A Caustic Bromance
by lpdrunknmunky
Summary: Uryuu and Rukia share an apartment at university, which is how he ends up meeting her old friend Ichigo, a rude punk who simply refuses to leave well enough alone. Even after he gets what he wants.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Caustic Bromance  
Status: Complete  
Word count: ~40k  
Warnings: Explicit m/m sex, dirty talk, alcohol use, toys (non-graphic)  
Summary: Uryuu and Rukia share an apartment at university, which is how he ends up meeting her old friend Ichigo, a rude punk who simply refuses to leave well enough alone. Even after he gets what he wants.  
AN: Real-world university AU, meaning no powers, Hollows, or ghosts, etc. Mostly from Uryuu's POV, but also Ichigo's and a dash of Rukia's.

This story is finished except for some last-minute editing, so I will be posting a new chapter every few days or so.

* * *

Uryuu snaps his book closed and exhales angrily. Pushing his glasses up, he pinches the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to dispel some of the tension stored there. Going on three hours in this library and he's no closer to understanding the various indications and complications of sarcoidosis than when he began. The dregs of his Starbucks are cold and curdling beside his stale, half-eaten bagel. He's too stressed, however, to feel things as trivial as thirst and hunger so they go untouched. If he has a hope of passing his next immunology exam, he has to drill this concept into his tortured brain today. It's not his fault the text is outdated and poorly-written, rendering it utterly incomprehensible. Especially to sleep-deprived, over-worked university students cramming like their entire futures depend on one exam.

It's also not his fault that the punk down the table from him has his raucous music up loud enough to be heard from the large red headphones bracketing his pierced ears. Uryuu is many things, including courageous enough to confront the delinquent, but after seeing the strict librarian try and fail, he'd prefer not to waste his time. That had begun with a stern request and ended with the poor woman scurrying away from her crass target like a mouse from the cat. All he'd done was growl something under his breath low enough for only her to hear.

He would be happy to find another study spot but Uryuu has been unable to muster the will to move for some time now. He blames it on upcoming exams and a dual lack of caffeine and sleep. The fact that he's also been unable to masturbate for weeks doesn't help, either. That one's on his roommate, who somehow seems to never leave their apartment and has a tendency to pop into Uryuu's room without knocking. All it took was one close-call to teach him that lesson. Even the shower isn't safe!

So he has no choice but to grit his teeth and bear all of it, unfortunately. The strawberry-blond shifts in his seat, leaning back as he reads texts on his black flip-phone, and Uryuu is surreptitiously staring once again. Although his social graces are clearly lacking, his physical attractiveness is certainly not. Tall and lightly tanned with plenty of lean, well-defined muscle visible under thin clothes, the twenty-something has the face and figure of a model with the apparent arrogance to match. His outfit is stylishly-cut yet brazenly-colored in bright reds, greens, and oranges to match his spiky hair. The pair of silver chains adorning his neck is matched by more circling his wrists and looping over the line of his hip from a spiked belt. His black messenger bag is patched with various American rock band logos: Green Day, Linkin Park, AFI, Hawthorne Heights, and such. The rings lining his ears accompany a bar in his left eyebrow and a stud in his lower lip. Momentarily overcome with lust, Uryuu idly wonders what else is pierced.

Just then the man looks askance at Uryuu, catching him staring. With a nonchalant flip of his wrist, Uryuu refocuses his gaze on the fresh page and pretends his eyes had just happened to fall on the colorful miscreant. From the corner of his eye, he can see the man's gaze holding, sweeping over Uryuu's form and analyzing him as he was just being analyzed. Uryuu knows well the picture he makes, clothed in black pressed-pants and white starched button-up under a matching black vest. His bag is a brown leather satchel devoid of personalization. The silver pentagram bracelet from his grandfather and the glasses he casually taps back into place are his only accessories. The smooth, inky wash of his longish hair falls neatly to one side of his pale face. They are polar opposites of one another.

He can picture this person out late every weekend, drinking and partying with friends. Singing karaoke, buzzed-driving, and pulling pranks past midnight. The type of crowd which is short-sighted enough to believe the purpose of those slosh-sessions is to harmlessly let off steam. Uryuu, on the other hand, has never been inside any of the bars near campus and he doesn't plan to be anytime soon. He has never played any practical jokes, sung in public, nor partaken of so much as a 'spliff'. Though he does occasionally indulge in a glass of wine if the mood takes him. If that makes him a _square_ then at least he's a healthy, self-respecting square.

When the man finally looks away, Uryuu relaxes slightly. He has always hated feeling like he's on display, at the mercy of unwanted judgments and criticisms simply by existing. But just knowing of the man's awareness is unsettling enough to leave him feeling vulnerable. If he had his way, no one would ever notice him until he was ready to be noticed. Regrettably, his list of attributes does not include voluntary invisibility.

Finally, he decides to give up studying for the day and head home. Rukia will be waiting for him—hopefully with dinner since it's her turn to cook—back at their apartment. Uryuu packs up his numerous texts and walks out of the library without tossing his table-partner another glance. His thoughts are too preoccupied with his schedule on the walk home to notice how spring is out in full-force around him. Campus is vibrant and green with new growth after a heavy rain. The wind is still rain-scented and cool from this morning's storm. It has a subconsciously calming effect.

When he reaches his street, Uryuu is so deep in his head that he almost doesn't notice that he has a tail. Only due to years of vigilance and caution does he realize now. He glances back and spots none other than the scowling visage of the guy he just left back at the library. Rather than lead a potential stalker right to his home, Uryuu takes a turn at random and passes his block. Call him paranoid, but it seems a little unusual that a stranger so noticeable would happen to be going in the exact same direction as him right after their little size-up session.

Uryuu uses a parked car's mirror to subtly look behind him after a few more minutes of walking in the wrong direction. There's no one behind him so he stops and waits. Then he turns and watches. Several minutes pass until he is satisfied. When he is, Uryuu heads back home, eventually convinced it was a coincidence after all.

"I'm home," he announces as he toes off his shoes and steps into his flat.

"Welcome back," comes Rukia's trilling answer. She sounds like she's in one of her rare excited moods. Maybe she got her portfolio back from her professor. If anyone is eccentric enough to truly appreciate the art in her demented doodles, it would be Urahara-sensei. "Dinner's almost ready! I made chicken katsu!"

"Great," he sincerely answers as he sheds his bag and walks down the short hall towards the living room. "I forgot to stop for something so I'm starving. I was too busy dodging this creeper following me home from the libra—"

Uryuu stops dead and stares. The creeper is in his living room, sprawled beside Rukia on their ratty couch with black socked-feet kicked up on the rickety old coffee table. The two of them stare back at him. Confused violet are ignored in favor of meeting irritated brown. The man openly scowls at him until Uryuu looks away.

"What creeper?"

"Who is this?" he demands instead of answering her. It's a little unsettling that Rukia would invite a ruffian into their home without his consent.

"Oh, this is Kurosaki Ichigo," she gushes, resuming her prior glee. "We went to high school together. I haven't seen him in almost three years!"

"And you suddenly decided to stop by for a surprise visit?" Uryuu dubiously asks, addressing the young man.

"He just moved into town. Ichigo got a place right down the street from here."

"I see."

This Kurosaki person seems content to let Rukia do his talking for him, even if he's ogling Uryuu pretty aggressively. They start staring again and this time Uryuu doesn't look away. He can see Rukia curiously glancing between the two of them but he doesn't feel like explaining something so trivial as their earlier encounter. If anyone has the right to glare here, it's Uryuu, not this crude guy. He just met this man but he can already tell they're not going to get along. When he starts to wonder if they'll keep this up all night, Kurosaki drops his feet and shifts forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The frown lessens somewhat as he finally opens his mouth to speak. His voice is deep and a little rough, in a pleasant way. Though his speaking cadence is sloppy as a rowdy mutt.

"And you are?"

"Ah! This is Ishida Uryuu," Rukia proclaims. "My roommate. He's a med school student at the university."

"Smart-kid, eh?"

"A genius," she corrects with a beatific grin. "He takes 22-hour semesters, including grad courses as electives. You should see his grades! It's like reading a horror manga, 'Aaaaaaaa!'" She snickers at her own lame joke while Uryuu rolls his eyes and Kurosaki shoots her a look for being weird. "Seriously, I don't think he's gotten a 'B' his whole life."

"Is that so?"

"My father would never allow it," he snaps, embittered by the taunting expression Kurosaki adopts. As if it was shameful to be intelligent. "And they tend to give you more scholarships if they think you'll pass."

"Money troubles?"

The way he asks, with a hint of a smirk to his lips, instantly pisses Uryuu off. Who does this prick think he is? Looking down on him just because he's not a drug-addled layabout with more metal on his body than hair.

"None of your fucking business."

"Uryuu! I'm sorry, Ichigo. He's usually very polite with people. He's just in a bad mood because I caught him…letting off some steam the other day. He's been testy ever since. That was my bad!"

Uryuu's eyes flare wide as the words leave her mouth. Expecting a delighted sneer of derision from Kurosaki, he is even more shocked to see the man reddening slightly and glancing away in discomfort. Maybe Uryuu's embarrassment is so extreme that it's contagious.

"I will thank you not to divulge such information to strangers, Rukia," he snaps once he regains his composure. "Especially tactless ruffians like him."

"Ichigo isn't a stranger and he's not a ruffian. You would realize that if you weren't so intent on being such a prissy _queen_ today!"

This time, Uryuu's jaw drops in astonishment. Not only has she outed him as a masturbator, but now she's also just plain _outed_ him. Kurosaki is looking at him again. At least the hostility is gone now.

"I should go," Kurosaki says as he stands. Rukia stops him with a pleading grip on his arm.

"No, wait! Ichigo, stay for dinner?" Rukia glares at Uryuu when this elicits an affronted scoff. "Please? Once Uryuu gets to know you better he'll calm down. He's suffering from a complex combination of low blood-sugar, lack of sleep, and caffeine withdrawal. If he gets some tea and hot food, he'll cheer right up! Really. I missed you, Ichigo."

Whispering the last with a pitiful pout, both men produce simultaneous sighs of resignation. They know there's no stopping her once she's made up her mind. Though he also knows she's manipulating them, Uryuu can't bring himself to be selfish when she's pulling that face. So, when Kurosaki raises his brows to him in silent question, Uryuu shrugs and gives a small nod. The tension between Kurosaki's eyes remains but he quirks a half-smile in response. The more positive expression suits him.

It turns out that Rukia is right: Uryuu feels much better after a good meal and some fresh tea. And Kurosaki might not be as much of a douchebag as he initially thought. He loses some of the attitude, thanks to Rukia's pleasant chatter and delicious food, allowing Uryuu to see past the punk façade. He catches a glimpse of someone loyal, clever, and kind as they reminisce. Though none of it is directed at Uryuu. There's no way he's going to judge someone for being slow to open up to new people when it took Uryuu two years to be comfortable with the idea of living with Rukia. He's big enough to admit when he's wrong.

Except when he really isn't.

"What the hell is your problem, Kurosaki?" he snarls, throwing his controller to the floor in fury. "How many times do I have to tell you we don't play free-for-all in this mode?"

"If you'd stop jumping in front of my fucking missiles, Ishida," Kurosaki growls right back, "You wouldn't keep dying every five seconds!"

"'Jumping in front of'—you imbecile! Even if I was that poor of a player, the statistical likelihood of me maneuvering with such a degree of consistent accuracy _on accident_ is—"

"Yeah, whatever Brainiac, just admit you suck at PS3."

"Only when you admit you suck at _life_, Kurosaki."

"Boys!" Rukia shouts, standing to hold them back from each other with a palm against each chest. "Why don't we take a breath and put the game away? How about a movie?"

"Why, so this lout can critique every character's shortcoming while eating all the chocolate pretzels? How about 'no'?"

"Oh, yeah? You don't want me eating your chocolate snacks, Ishida? PMSing?"

Uryuu feels a ripping rage burn up his neck and set his scalp tingling. He clenches his fist and Rukia tenses before him. Kurosaki's sneer subsides a fraction and Uryuu is so. Fucking. Tempted. But he's never been in a senseless fist-fight before. He's never wanted to punch someone in the face more than he does right now. His father excluded, of course.

"Uryuu."

"_What_," he hisses, finally diverting his stare to the diminutive woman gazing worryingly up at him. Seeing her apprehension, Uryuu relents. "I'm going to get some air."

"Wait, it's after midnight!"

He slams the door to her concern, stomping down the stairs and around the corner before he realizes he forgot his jacket. Luckily, his anger is more than enough to keep him warm for now. His mind keeps rehashing the evening, on loop as he meanders down the road. Maybe he was out of line, turning to violence when civility failed. And if he is being particularly honest with himself, Uryuu can admit that he's been way too stressed lately to be thinking clearly one hundred percent of the time. Especially now that he's almost a senior, _so close_ to graduation and all the freedoms that entails.

No thanks to his bipolar father, Uryuu will not have tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt to pay back over the next decade. Due to excellent grades and hard work, he will be able to get into his choice of graduate schools with little trouble. Once there, it will be a simple matter of not killing anyone during residency. But all of that is riding on this final year of undergrad. If he gets even one B, he will lose his scholarships, his future, his freedom. This one semester is giving him more trouble than any before it and he's not sure he can do it this time. What he really needs is a break, but the next one is another fortnight away.

Pondering the potential downfall of his dreams leeches the remaining ire from his blood. With a sigh, Uryuu finally stops to lean against the rough, stained brick of another apartment building. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes, just breathes. This is not the time for a mental breakdown. That will have to wait until he's graduated. It's on his calendar. He's blocked off ten days to have as many panic attacks, sleepless nights, and crying fits as he pleases _after it's over_.

The sound of a jogger interrupts his brooding. Although a late-night jogger is rare, it's not significant enough to pique his interest and look up. That's why he nearly jumps out of his skin when hears, "Here."

Kurosaki is standing in front of him, about arm's-length away, panting and holding up his jacket. Concealing his fright, Uryuu wordlessly takes the proffered garment and frowns. "What—"

"Rukia."

"Oh."

They stand in silence for a beat, eyeing each other and shifting slightly. Uryuu can't help wondering why Kurosaki is so close, why he isn't leaving, why he bothered to bring him his jacket.

"Put it on, man. You're shivering." He doesn't say it rudely, so Uryuu obeys, wondering why Kurosaki should care. Uryuu opens his mouth to ask one of these questions—he isn't sure which—when he is preempted. "Look, Rukia told me about your…situation. What you've been going through lately."

"All she does is meddle."

"Yeah, she's still the Number One Meddler, that's for sure."

"It's not her place."

"Maybe not, but I'm glad she did." Now Kurosaki looks away and tilts his head contritely. "I didn't mean to give you a hard time, Ishida. You just seemed like such a spastic, self-entitled little nerd—"

"Kurosaki."

"What I'm trying to say is…" he straightens and looks Uryuu right in the eye, holds out his hand, "Truce?"

Distrustful, Uryuu hesitates. He's been in this position before, with a bully or an ass feigning grace to get another laugh. But Kurosaki doesn't have any watching buddies, no reputation to boost in a town he just moved to. The Kurosaki who Rukia was talking about at dinner wouldn't do something so petty.

Against his better judgment, Uryuu listens to his instincts and accepts, taking Kurosaki's hand to shake firmly. The gesture sparks a wide, relieved smile that sets his pulse racing and his pupils blooming. Uryuu snatches his hand back and walks away, muttering something about getting home, before his blush can give him away.


	2. Chapter 2

His father's electronically-enhanced screeching dies as Ichigo snaps his cell phone closed on the conversation. As if he needs another lecture about keeping his grades up and studying hard right after his first class of the day. As if Isshin would know the first thing about working hard. Ichigo never understood how a lunatic like his dad ever managed to become a doctor, much less run a private clinic. He suspects his mother had a hand in keeping the family together. Too bad she died before her children were old enough to move out and get away from her overbearing husband.

Thinking of moving out reminds Ichigo that he has to pay rent today. He digs out a pen to write it on his wrist as a reminder, failing to watch where he's going and avoid running into someone in the hall. They briefly collide with a warm body-check that miraculously doesn't send books and pencils flying in every direction. Ichigo automatically reaches his hands out to steady the other person before either of them falls.

"Ah, shit, sorry." Ichigo takes a step back and glances up to see who it is. When he does, he is momentarily stunned. "Ishida!"

"In too much of a rush to look where you're walking, Kurosaki?"

"You know this boy, Uryuu?"

"Hardly."

Ichigo eyes the two of them closely. Older, pissier, and bearing white hair instead of black, the man beside Ishida looks strikingly similar to him. It's obvious at once that this must be his father. He can't help asking to confirm, though.

"Is this your dad?"

"No, he's a random stranger who happens to resemble me."

"Ha-_ha_," Ichigo rolls his eyes at the sarcasm. He's already wondering why he didn't just shrug it off and walk away, since Ishida seems to be incapable of friendliness. "What's he doing on campus?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business, child," the irritated man cuts Ishida off. "What have I told you about associating with riff-raff, Uryuu? These miscreants will mean nothing but trouble for your academic career."

"You don't know the first thing about me, man," he defends himself, brow pulling into a deeper scowl.

"Ripped jeans, atrociously brightly-colored clothing, hair that hasn't seen a comb in weeks…even scribbling notes on yourself like a grade-schooler? I see no redeemable qualities to speak of."

"Yeah? At least I don't go around with my nose in the air judging people at first glance!"

"And so quick to anger," he tuts, narrowing his eyes at Ichigo. "This is what I mean, Uryuu. You can't trust these feral types. How many fist-fights have you been in, I wonder?"

"That's enough, Ryuuken," Ishida surprises them both by gritting. "True prudence lies not with categorization but with caution. If you took a moment to consider this _'child_' you would know that his grades are excellent, despite working a part-time job. His friends adore him and, while it's accurate to say his attitude is generally mercurial, at least he's up-front about it. I can think of at least one person here whose fondness for cloak-and-dagger nearly ruined his career."

"Disrespectful and short-sighted as ever." The man turns his body towards his son as his focus shifts back to him. For his part, Ichigo's annoyance wanes as he watches Ishida attack someone else with those sharp words for once. "Why did I expect better?"

"The real question is: why did you think I would give a damn about your expectations?" Ichigo's eyebrows rise with shock as Ryuuken's lower in anger. "Come on, Kurosaki. How about ramen for lunch today?"

Without waiting for a response, Ishida grabs his arm and drags him away from his fuming father. He goes willingly enough, if only for the chance to ask what the hell that was about. Ishida drops his hold and keeps walking, eyes forward and shoulders tense. By the time they get to the student union food court, Ichigo is lost in thought about this enigmatic man. Rukia told him a bit about Ishida's family situation but even Loudmouth has boundaries. She refused to say more than that it's more or less just Ishida and his father now, and that they rarely get along. What she definitely didn't convey is how much they apparently hate each other.

"I guess it would be pointless to ask you to pretend none of that ever happened," Ishida finally speaks as they step in line to order at one of the small restaurants.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Then let me save us some time by anticipating your questions. My father and I haven't seen eye-to-eye since I was six and it's unlikely to ever change. Call it…a fundamental difference in values. He showed up today to check up on my progress because I refuse to answer his calls on the best of days and he still believes he has a hand in my upbringing. Despite declining to financially-assist me further." Ishida turns to address the clerk and place his order, waiting for Ichigo to do the same before continuing. "While I realize lashing out and using petty rebellion to communicate my disdain for him is immature, the alternative requires an emotional grace I evidently lack as of yet. So, I want to make it clear, Kurosaki, that I invited you to lunch only to spite him and not out of some latent desire for your company."

"I see…" he says, though he really doesn't. Sometimes Ishida talks way too fast. "Is he always like that?"

"Like what? Haughty and dismissive? Yes."

"That sucks." Ishida shoots him a glare and Ichigo shrugs. "Better an elusive dick than a perpetual nag, right? My pops calls me three times a day just to gripe and threaten. I guess he means well but…I'd almost rather he didn't give a shit, y'know?"

"I don't know if I'd say that's worse, though it sounds highly unpleasant. What about your mother?"

Their orders are called then, giving Ichigo time to consider his answer as they retrieve their trays and find seating. Ishida perches on the barstool across from him and organizes the contents of his meal with practiced motions. Ichigo rips the paper from his chopsticks and carelessly flips the lid on his carton.

"She, uh, isn't in the picture anymore. Rukia told me yours isn't, either."

"No," he agrees with a frown. "Though it wasn't her place to say."

"Hey, I've been wondering about that. How is it that someone like you wanted to move in with someone like Rukia?"

"What do you mean?" he asks with a warning arch to one eyebrow.

"Well, she's kind of…all over the place. A little nuts, impulsive, and way too energetic. Although that's kind of what's great about her. You, as far as I can tell, are nothing like her. So is it like 'opposites attract'?"

"Rukia and I are just friends," Ishida blurts with widened eyes. The bite of food he was about to take plops back into his bowl. "We're roommates, nothing more."

"I know that. I mean 'attraction' in a friend sense."

"We get along fine, Kurosaki."

"When she isn't blabbing all about you to old friends?"

"Yes—No! I mean," he sighs, pausing to sip at his water. "She's never done that before, to my knowledge."

Ichigo nods, falling silent for a few moments as he digs into his noodle dish. He can tell Ishida is upset about something. Whether it's because of his father's visit or maybe classes, he doesn't seem at ease today. Surprisingly, Ichigo finds himself wanting to improve his mood, in spite of not knowing the man very well at all.

Truthfully, he didn't like Ishida when they first met last week. Even after calling a truce and deciding to do his best to be civil Ichigo never thought of him as someone he'd really want to befriend. Yet, something about Ishida stuck in his mind. Ichigo has thought about him almost every day since then. Wondering what he's doing or what he would think about certain things. He found himself wanting to visit Rukia while secretly hoping Ishida would be there, too. Part of it is because Ishida is really hot in that subtle, nerdy kind of way that you don't notice at first. Once you do, though, you can't stop staring.

On that thought, Ichigo realizes he is staring, but it's okay because Ishida is staring back.

He is reminded of that moment in the library. Ichigo was annoyed at having to tell off the librarian when he was going to leave soon anyway, and then some guy was scowling at him a few seats down the table. He wanted to tell him off as well but he got distracted. The way Ishida's hair had fallen so sleek and stark against his skin was the first indication. Next was the deliberate flex of his slim fingers to adjust his book. Finally, Ishida had cut his pretty blue eyes at Ichigo in a subtle glare and curled his full mouth into a petulant shape that really should've pissed him off. But by then he was already imagining them sneaking deep into the stacks and expressing their irritation through more amorous actions.

"Hey, Ishida," he abruptly starts before he can think twice about what he's doing. "When is your next class?"

"A little less than an hour. Why?"

"Hurry up and eat. I want to show you something."

"What? No. I have better things to do than—"

"It'll cheer you up."

"Who said I needed cheering?"

"Your face. Now shut up and eat already," Ichigo commands around a mouthful. "Or I'll follow you to class and disrupt everyone."

"Don't you have a life, Kurosaki?" he swallows a bite to counter. "Something to do besides bothering people?"

"Nope."

Sighing again, Ishida visibly resigns himself to Ichigo's whim and eats a fraction faster. They soon finish with only a few more comments to each other before packing up their trash and heading out. Ichigo leads him a few buildings over, checking every now and then to make sure Ishida doesn't give him the slip. He follows all the way into the basement of the performing arts center before breaking the silence with a question, quiet-yet-loud the empty halls around them.

"If you're planning on murdering me down here, I should probably warn you: I may look like a pushover but I'm strong enough to take you, Kurosaki."

It's spoken so dryly that Ichigo isn't sure it's sarcasm. He laughs a little nervously and tries to look innocent as he says, "Nah. If I was gonna kill you, I would do it somewhere I could get rid of your body."

As soon as he says it, Ichigo regrets it. A little zing of panic prompts him to glance over at Ishida for his reaction to something that accidentally sounded far too sinister. He almost melts into a puddle with relief at the tiny smirk Ishida quickly smothers. Although he's not sure why it's so important that Ishida not think he's secretly a serial killer, he doesn't have time to ponder it as they arrive at the pair of wide doors leading to the rehearsal room.

"Ichi_gooooo_~" hails an overzealous cry from all the way across the spacious room. "Hey, guys, it's Ichigo!"

"Hey, Keigo."

His childhood friends Mizuiro, Keigo, and Chad jump off the low stage and come over to greet them. Ichigo makes introductions, addressing Ishida as his 'friend' even though they're still practically strangers. They take turns bowing and exchanging the usual phrases. Then Keigo immediately launches into an excited run-through of their production.

"It's a comedy skit, yeah? I'm making pure gold with every punch line, Sado is playing the 'straight man' like he was born to it, Ichigo's contributions to our joke arsenal are rockin', and with Mizuiro directing we're gonna smash the box office!"

"It's an independent project," Mizuiro adds at Ishida's curious expression. "For a grade and everything, but if it goes over well with the professor we'll play the main stage and even make a profit!"

"I've never seen a comedy show on the events calendar before," Ishida thoughtfully comments.

"There never has been," Chad supplies. "It's new."

"So you guys wanna show us what ya got?" suggests Ichigo, looking at Ishida and wondering if he's the kind of person to appreciate the lame puns he helped the guys write. "We can't stay for long, but I wanted to see how it's going so far."

"You bet!" shouts Keigo, who drags the trio back towards the stage. "You two just sit front and center and we'll start from the top!"

Shaking his head and grinning, Ichigo guides Ishida to the third row back, two behind Mizuiro in the very first row. They watch Chad play stoic and vaguely confused while Keigo lauds him with just enough absurdity. Only Keigo would have the energy to traipse around the stage like a nut. Years spent being the class clown have suited him well for this part. Though Chad is basically playing himself, he looks good on stage, a calm counterpoint to Keigo's frantic motions. Mizuiro mostly stays quiet, occasionally offering direction when necessary.

They both applaud between short acts and Ishida listens attentively throughout. Yet, Ichigo begins to worry when he doesn't hear any laughter joining his own. He turns towards him, expecting boredom or disdain, but he's pleased to see a muted smile playing about Ishida's mouth. His eyes are bright with amusement and interest. Caught, the man straightens the smile out into a neutral line and half-heartedly snarks.

"You wrote these ridiculous jokes, Kurosaki? Good thing you didn't go into comedy as a career."

"Shut up, Ishida," he fires back with a wicked grin. "You know you like it. It's okay to laugh. I won't tell anyone you have a sense of humor. Who'd believe me anyway?"

Opening his mouth to respond, Ishida hesitates. Slowly, that reluctant smirk appears again and Ichigo laughs as Ishida looks away in embarrassment. They both know he lost that one. It doesn't take long for him to recover.

"At least I know when to stick to my talents."

"Yeah, your wit is best used as verbal cannon fodder. The way you schooled your own dad…"

"Who do you think I learned it from?"

"Shhh," Mizuiro whips around to chastise them with a fake glare. "Did you come to see the show or flirt with each other?"

That shuts both of them right up. Ichigo doesn't even have it in him to correct Mizuiro; there's no way they'd be flirting since they barely get along. But the dizzy happiness swirling in the back of Ichigo's head tells him otherwise. Without turning his head, he peeks at Ishida from the corner of his eye and notices a reddish tint to the tops of his cheeks. It's cute. Ichigo bites his lip against the thought.

"Shit," Ishida hisses then, eyes widening at the time on his phone. He swiftly stands and heads for the narrow aisle. "I'm going to be late for class."

"Wait, Ishida!"

"What is it, Kurosaki?" he pauses at the end of the row to glance back at him, adjusting his slipping glasses. "I have to go now or—"

"Did I…are you cheered up now? After seeing your dad?"

Blinking, Ishida thinks about that for a moment. He appraises Ichigo with unnerving concentration, making him feel like he's being mentally dissected. Probably searching for ulterior motives or a hidden insult, if Rukia's insight into Ishida's personality is reliable. The set of his shoulders relaxes after a few seconds and Ishida takes a long breath.

"Yes, I believe I am. Tell your friends I'm looking forward to opening night."

"I will," Ichigo smiles warmly. "See you later, Ishida."

He nods once before striding out of the auditorium. Ichigo can imagine what he's probably thinking. _See me later, Kurosaki? Hopefully not._ It doesn't matter. Now that he knows Ishida isn't all ice and venom, there'll be no getting rid of him. Ishida is just too intriguing to pass up. When the man disappears through the doors, Ichigo turns back around. All three of his friends are staring at him. He scowls at their knowing looks.

"You got a new sweetheart, Ichigo?" Keigo croons in an ear-piercing falsetto that makes him grit his teeth on instinct. "Gonna take him on a real date some day?"

"He is a looker," Mizuiro disinterestedly adds while scrolling through his phone.

"Mn," Chad confirms.

"No! I just met him a week ago. Who asked you guys?"

"You just bring all your new friends to see our super-secret show rehearsals?" teases Keigo, jumping down from the stage to be more obnoxious from a shorter distance.

"He was having a bad day. I just—"

"Awww, our Ichigo is such a bleeding heart," Mizuiro lowers his phone to cajole. "Right, Sado?"

"I think he likes you."

"How the hell would you know that, Chad?" He answers with a light shrug and Ichigo resists the urge to scowl. "I don't know anything about him."

"So, get to know him."

"I don't need you guys to tell me that!"

* * *

AN: These first couple of chapters are kind of slow, but things start heating up in the next one. Get ready for some UST!


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Kurosaki decides to show up uninvited is three days later. Uryuu has somehow passed his exam and is celebrating by indulging in a glass of wine and homemade shabu-shabu for dinner. He is halfway through his meal, blissfully alone in the apartment for another hour while Rukia is in a late class, when he hears the knock at the front door.

"Ishida," the man casually greets as if they're old pals. "Rukia here?"

"Class."

"Ah. Hey, what's that smell?" Kurosaki asks, stepping right into Uryuu's personal bubble, forcing him to step back and allow entry. "Smells delicious!"

"I was celebrating with a nice meal…"

He tells himself it's not said like a sullen child as he shuts the door and follows the intruder into the kitchen. Kurosaki walks up to the pot and takes a deep whiff, marveling at the riches therein. Uryuu is tempted to boast but then he remembers who this person is. He doesn't want Kurosaki here. It's only a matter of time before they start arguing again.

"You're an awesome cook, aren't you?" He flashes that open, lop-sided smile and just like that, Kurosaki derails Uryuu's vindictive thought process. "Probably even better than my little sister."

"I have had years of practice…"

"From living on your own, right?"

"Rukia has a big mouth," Uryuu mutters once he gets over the fact that Kurosaki knows even more things about him that he hasn't intentionally shared.

"She said you were the private type. How else am I supposed to learn anything about you?" Flabbergasted by the notion that Kurosaki wants to know things about him, Uryuu doesn't say one word when his cooking is pillaged by the hungry man. Instead, he watches Kurosaki scoop out a bowlful and take a monstrous bite, twitching when he groans aloud. "This is fucking _amazing_, Ishida."

"T-thanks."

"Mind if I have some wine?"

Uryuu nods dumbly, too busy noticing how Kurosaki looks in his ripped jeans, red leather jacket, and yellow v-neck. As if sensing his lecherous thoughts, Kurosaki sheds the jacket and grabs the wine as he walks over to the table. He tops off Uryuu's glass before filling his own and taking the seat opposite his abandoned place setting. How can this be happening right now? It's like a scene out of a bad gay porno—not that he watches those! All that's missing is some cheesy dance music and heavy petting. Maybe some tongue-kissing and over-the-clothes groping before they move to the couch…

"Um."

"You okay, man?" he asks between bites. "You look a little flushed."

"Fine." It comes out hoarse, so he clears his throat and tries again. "I'm fine. It's the wine. You know, Rukia won't be back for another hour."

Oh, god, that sounded like a _line_.

"Yeah?"

Kurosaki raises an eyebrow but keeps his focus on the food. The lines of his long body draped across the dining chair emphasize his height. The way the man sips wine is somehow erotic. He slides his big, socked foot across the smooth white floor. Uryuu resists the urge to fidget.

"I mean, don't you want to come back later?"

"You want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that."

He doesn't want to be the asshole here after they've recently declared a truce—not to mention Kurosaki's comedy club stunt—but he's literally afraid of spending any length of time alone with this beautiful monster when he's already so repressed. It's inevitable that he does or says something inappropriate and stupid. The last thing he wants is for this kind of person to know that Uryuu finds him enormously attractive. It's bad enough he has to watch the man eat like that. Like it's a form of _foreplay_.

That's when he sees it. A flash of silver when Kurosaki licks innocently over his upper lip. He has a _tongue piercing_.

"Oh, _fuck_," Uryuu whispers, feeling his spine melt like a boiled noodle because he has always wondered what that would be like…for kissing as well as receiving certain 'favors'. The sudden rush of images goes straight to his groin. He grabs the chair and sinks behind the table before Kurosaki can see the burgeoning result of his guileless actions. Said stimulus sets down his half-empty bowl and looks Uryuu over carefully.

"You sure you're okay?"

"No," he croaks, resting an elbow on a table to set his forehead in his palm. "I'm not sure of anything these days."

"Hey, Ishida, I get it. I doubt Rukia told you much about me, but the reason I came here is I was having trouble back home." Curious, Uryuu lifts his head to watch him as he speaks. "I was living with my old man, going to community college to save money on pre-req's, you know? But the old bastard just wouldn't shut the hell up. Every day bursting into my room with this 'my idiot son' bullshit, like I wasn't doing enough because I turned this place down—"

"You got accepted here from high school?"

"Yeah. I know, you wouldn't think there were enough brains in here for that feat," he wryly grins at himself, rapping a light knuckle against his skull. "But I passed the entrance exam on the first try. Trouble was, I knew the old man couldn't afford it without putting my kid sisters out since they have a lot of extra-curriculars. So I went the cheap route."

"He wanted more from you," Uryuu realized, relating to Kurosaki in that sense. It didn't matter what he achieved, Ryuuken always expected better. "But you wanted more for your sisters."

Kurosaki looks at him then. Like he sees Uryuu for the first time, past the obsessive-compulsive, over-achieving, anti-social freak he is. Like he really _sees _him. He nods slowly and Uryuu wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

"So, I know how it feels to have everything in your life so fucked-up you can't tell up from down or left from right. I've been there. If you ever want to talk…"

But the last thing Uryuu wants to do with Kurosaki is _talk_.

* * *

That conversation is enough to mend the ruffled edges between them. It doesn't mean they're inseparable, 'besties-for-life' or anything hyperbolic like that. But Uryuu finds it much easier to tolerate the man's company when he's not acting like a twelve year-old. Similarly, Kurosaki seems pleased when the biting frost of Uryuu's indifference is somewhat thawed. He asks for Uryuu's number, friends him online, and invites him to a study session. Then he proceeds to drop by and chat whenever he feels like it.

Rukia freaks out when she hears about it.

"I mean it's like you guys are 'talking', Uryuu!" she croons, using emphatic air-quotes. "Ichigo has his rough edges but he's actually a super nice guy. You would be so cute together! I need to tweet about this…"

"Rukia, no!" Uryuu cries, slapping her giant pink Galaxy from her tiny palm. It _thunks_ harmlessly to the carpet with a rubber rebound. "First, you are not allowed to post about me, remember? Ever. Second, Kurosaki and I barely tolerate each other, much less are thinking of dating. Third, he's straight, as you know since you already told me he had a red-headed, big-breasted _girlfriend_ his senior year of high school."

"Yeah, but gay guys date girls all the time, Uryuu. It's called Confusion!" She picks up her phone and hastily pockets the gigantic thing—still sticking halfway out of her tiny pants—before he can attack it again. "Just because he's dated a woman doesn't mean he wouldn't date a man; there's this thing called 'bisexuality'. Besides, everyone knows the best relationships begin from rivalries."

"Rivalries?" he scoffs, eyes squinting in distaste. "Kurosaki couldn't rival a broken broomstick at a useless-objects convention!"

"That would be just the tool if you had to kill a vampire." Uryuu just glares. Rolling her eyes, Rukia crosses her arms and glares right back at him. That's her 'stop being dumb' face. "Just flirt a little and see what happens. That's all I'm saying."

"I do not _flirt_."

"Fine. Then don't freak out when _he_ flirts with _you_, mkay? And don't hit him if he touches you. Oh, actually maybe he'd like that…Anyway, I gotta get to class. Tell me all about your date when you get back!"

"It's not a—" he tries to deny but she slams the door and scampers off.

Truthfully, Uryuu has no idea what he'd do if he was flirted with, much less asked on a date. By anyone. He would probably skip town. Although Uryuu has received confessions from several girls over the years, it's different when he might actually be interested since it's a boy. The fact that Kurosaki is coming over again in a few hours is enough to set him twitching anxiously, even if it's only to study.

But Uryuu doesn't think he's going to manage it. It's been over a month since he's had any kind of 'release' and he's starting to ache with it. Spending time with Kurosaki will only exacerbate the issue. Everything about him is _sex_ in one form or another, even when Uryuu wants to push him in front of a bus for frustration with the man. It doesn't help that he seems to want to show up randomly almost every damned day since they 'bonded' over their annoying fathers. Once he even brought onigiri to pay Uryuu back for sharing his shabu-shabu.

The solution is obvious. With Rukia gone, the apartment is empty, and Uryuu can finally have some privacy. With a _whoosh_ and a _flomp_, he collapses onto his bed, hands already going for his belt. Normally there would be more poise to this, more of a buildup to set the mood. But he's been in the mood practically since he glimpsed that idiot. All it takes is a few stray thoughts of the mulish hooligan and he's already half-hard by the time he pushes his underwear down his thighs.

Fantasies of Kurosaki flow freely, lewdly through his mind. Snarky smirk turned suggestive, silver flashing from all over his body. Glints of metal contrasting nicely with tanned skin like stars peaking through a golden dusk. Imaginary Kurosaki strips for him, fast and efficient because he knows Uryuu doesn't want to wait. He sidles up to Uryuu and sinks to his knees. Runs hot, rough hands up Uryuu's legs as he leans forward, mouth dropping open just enough to catch a peek of his tongue stud.

Back in the real world, Uryuu reaches for himself, biting his lip to smother a groan as his erection offers a healthy dollop of natural lubricant. One hand grips and pulls while the other clenches into his covers. A stuttering sigh wins past his teeth, ending on a desperate moan. Two minutes in and he's already right on the edge. With a muffled curse, Uryuu's brows furrow in anticipation as he speeds up the pace. He pictures Kurosaki's devastating visage: a modernized, punk-rock incubus of the twenty-first century. Chains dangling around his neck and over the ridges of his bare chest. Little dimples at his hips shifting with the flex of his abs. The rough tone of his low voice.

Pleasure rips through him, so sweet in its awaited arrival that Uryuu is breathless with it. Weeks of tension is shed in seconds and he can finally _think_. Quick gasps shake his frame as his spine gives one languid roll before it tenses. It's so good his skin is tingling. Uryuu is literally stunned.

Then he hears footsteps in the hall.

It was never Uryuu's intention to promote a welcoming vibe with Kurosaki to the point that he's fine forgetting to knock sometimes. Especially not now. With a fresh mess and the fool walking curiously into his bedroom. Of course Rukia would forget to lock the door. Uryuu yanks the covers over and turns on his side just before he rounds the corner.

"Hey, Ishida, you guys got any beer left?"

"In the fridge," he grumbles, hoping Kurosaki will butt-out for once in his life.

"Are you sick?" Walking further into the room, Kurosaki goes around the bed to get a closer look at him. "You're sweating."

"I'm fine!"

"You're really hot," he insists, pressing a hand to his forehead. Fingers find his carotid and Uryuu groans. "Your pulse is skyrocketing, Ishida!"

The last thing he needs right now is Kurosaki's hands on him, the rich smell of his cologne close enough to taste on his tongue. Even recently assuaged, he responds to Kurosaki's presence. The erections he has been continually suppressing for Kurosaki are more insistent than he ever imagined. Though it doesn't help that he's a healthy young twenty-something with a refractory period of about ten seconds. It's going to take more than willpower to subdue this affliction.

"It's nothing, Kurosaki. Just a 24-hour flu. It's almost over. Now get out."

"Whatever you say. Jerk."

He is being a jerk, but it's working. Kurosaki stops touching him and takes a couple steps away. Uryuu just has to get him out of the room long enough to make it to his en-suite bathroom and clean up.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Keigo cancelled lunch, Chad's taking a nap, and I don't have class Thursdays," he explains as he walks out, ostensibly to grab a beer from the fridge. "So I figured I'd come pick on my favorite nerd."

Uryuu almost trips on the way, but not because of clumsy feet. "'Favorite nerd'? Kurosaki, I hope you're referring to Rukia."

"Nah, she's my favorite loudmouth," Kurosaki calls from the kitchen. "Rukia's pretty brainy when she wants to be but she's no _Ishida Uryuu_."

Shoving his soiled boxer-briefs into the hamper, Uryuu resists the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious sarcasm in Kurosaki's tone. He zips back up—_sans _underwear, sadly—and washes his hands thoroughly before giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror. A couple swipes of fingers through his hair and he deems himself presentable. Kurosaki is gulping down liquid when he walks in. As if fate is laughing at Uryuu, a shaft of afternoon light slats through the blinds and hits Kurosaki's neck as if to highlight the obscene motion of his working throat. He breaks into a teasing grin when he glimpses Uryuu's disheveled state.

"What are you really doing here, Kurosaki?" he demands with crossed arms. "Too broke to afford your own booze these days?"

"Fuck off."

"You first. Rukia won't be back until—"

"I know."

"Then why—?"

Setting his bottle down with a sharp clack, Kurosaki crosses the floor to hover in front of Uryuu, who drops his arms and straightens out of instinct. The man frowns gently and stares him down for a minute. Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and adopts a more casual stance. He glances away from Uryuu to look out a nearby window.

"Look, is it so hard for you to believe I just came by to say hi? Maybe have a beer and listen to some music. God, you're like a fucking guard dog sometimes, you know that?"

Feeling off-kilter, Uryuu thinks about that before opening his mouth this time. He doesn't want to have a fight right now and cancel their study session later. Much as he is loathe to admit it, part of him was looking forward to the experience. Yet, the idea that Kurosaki wants to drink and bond over music with him is unsettling for several reasons. Even if that sounds like an appealing proposition, too.

Kurosaki's expression borders on pathetic. His eyes swivel back to Uryuu, darting to different parts of him with no apparent goal. Finally, he sighs and turns to face the door. Uryuu stops him with a grip on his shoulder without thinking. He's not sure what kind of face he's making, but it suffices to convince Kurosaki to stay, resuming his place with a little less distance than before. Uryuu is starting to think the man has no concept of personal space to speak of.

"Ever heard of Billy Squier?"

"Only one of the best musicians of all time," Kurosaki grins widely. "Do you have _Lonely is the Night_?"

"Of course."

So Uryuu boots up his laptop and plugs it into their stereo speakers in the living room. To his eternal bewilderment, Kurosaki starts singing along to the English lyrics. He's not bad, actually. Soon Uryuu is feeling bold enough to grab a beer of his own as they discuss music at first, flipping through his library, then other random topics. Interesting TV shows, movies, and books. Then onto school-related subjects, professors they hate and ones they love. Places they've travelled to and vacations they've had. He doesn't notice how normal it all is, how they've managed to avoid bickering for once, until they start at it again.

"What's with that weird bracelet you always wear, anyway?"

Offended at the word 'weird', even if he knows it is quite unusual, Uryuu frowns as he raises his wrist to glance at it.

"It was my grandfather's, Kurosaki, and I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my only heirloom with your disparaging adjectives." He sees the way Kurosaki's shoulders tense at his tone. When had they relaxed? "What's up with your _weird_ necklace?"

"Which one?" he scoffs, dragging fingers through his collection of chains with a flippant eyebrow.

"You know which one. That one you're always wearing even though the others change. Looks like the skull of some kind of creature with a trapezoidal head and long teeth."

Reaching out, Uryuu nudges Kurosaki's hand aside to pick it out from its fellows and hold it up. Kurosaki glances at it but then looks right at Uryuu. A little smirk curves across his mouth. That's when Uryuu realizes how close they are, how familiar he is being right now. They are seated about two feet apart on the couch but he has planted a hand beside Kurosaki's thigh to balance as he leans in close enough to feel the heat of him. Snatching his hand back as if stung, he turns away, hiding his face with his wash of asymmetrical bangs.

"Someone's observant."

"Yes, well…"

"I guess you could say it's kind of an heirloom, too," answers Kurosaki with a thoughtful expression as he fingers the talisman. Dropping it, he returns his attention to Uryuu. "Why don't you have any piercings?"

"What? What kind of dumb question is that, Kurosaki? Why do you have _so many_ piercings? You know you're the odd one here, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes. Fixing them on Uryuu, he pauses before commenting, "I think you'd look really good with a few rings right…here."

And if Uryuu wasn't already flustered from an unforgiving combination of recent orgasm, alcohol, shameless teasing, and Kurosaki's very presence, the electrifying sensation of Kurosaki's finger dragging slowly over the curve of his exposed ear would suffice. With a strangled sound sticking in his throat, he jerks back from the touch and feels his face warm against his will.

"I-I don't need you to tell me that," Uryuu stutters, thoroughly embarrassed. "Who asked you, anyway? Someone so addicted to metal as you, Kurosaki…I bet you're into tattoos, too!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Kurosaki returns with a small pout.

"Don't tell me…"

"I've got one."

"Oh, dear gods," he murmurs before he can stop himself. Uryuu plays his flash of lust off as disapproval, turning to scowl at the man. "Tell me it's not a scorpion or mermaid."

"Nah, nothing that cliché. Wanna see it?"

"N-"

But Kurosaki is already tugging his shirt over his head before he even finishes the question. Uryuu's heart dances a jittery tango at the sight of this man's glorious torso in living color. Luckily, Kurosaki turns away before he can catch the dumbfounded look, which is all Uryuu seems to be capable of making right now.

Across the top of his broad back is a beautiful, intricate pattern of crimson-laced black, textured like fog or a flowing stream in elaborate swirls. Something that should seem almost feminine is easily offset by the sharp, hard lines of the work's centerpiece: a long black katana complete with hilt and small guard. A few oblong links of black chain taper off the end of its braided hilt. The craftsmanship is breathtaking. So well-painted that it inspires an aura of power and awe.

Uryuu doesn't know he is being watched over a shoulder until Kurosaki shakes with soft laughter at his expression.

"What was that you were saying about tattoos?"

"Kurosaki, this is…" he can't help sighing. Rukia would lose her shit if she saw this masterpiece. She's into tats, too. "What does it mean?"

"I grew up taking karate and kendo classes. It's a family tradition, so this is kind of like a personal crest."

"Amazing," Uryuu thinks aloud, thoughtlessly setting reverent fingertips to warm skin. When the touch sparks a surprised shift in Kurosaki's spine, he yanks his hand back for the second time. The last thing he needs is for Kurosaki to think he is subconsciously drawn to him, even if it's totally true. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You can touch if you want."

Is it Uryuu's imagination or is his voice just a little huskier than usual? Swallowing, he shakes his head and averts his stare from Kurosaki's body. He frantically searches for a change in topic before things get any worse.

"Anyway, didn't you come over to study? I have another exam coming up and I could use all the cram-time I can get."

"Yeah," Kurosaki vaguely agrees as he pulls his shirt back on. "I guess we should."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: More social awkwardness on the horizon. This story turned out to have a lot more goofy humor than I usually write! And pop culture references...

* * *

Rukia can hear their irritated voices from the stairwell. She slips into the apartment, toes off her shoes, and walks into the living room with a sharp reprimand on the tip of her tongue. But the scene before her has her biting it back uncertainly. Uryuu sits on the couch with a thick text sprawled across his lap. He is flipping pages absently while trying to talk over Ichigo, who is propped on the floor between him and the coffee table. They are so close that Uryuu's leg is in contact with his shoulder.

Though their words are sarcastic and annoyed, their faces are relaxed, frames free of tension, and tones devoid of menace. Rukia takes a moment to observe all of this and think about what it means. The artist in her finds it so striking that she wishes they would sit for a sketch, just like this.

"As I said, Kurosaki, you don't need an eleven-blade when you have a fifteen handy. The curvature of the scalpel is—"

"It says right here in the class notes: 'a fifteen-blade will not suffice for initial incision in most cases'. How are you going to argue with the professor?"

"My father has been Chief of Medicine much longer than that professor has been teaching at this school. I think I would know which blade is best by now."

"Oh, so you sit in on all your dad's procedures, then?"

"I observed a number of them, yes."

"And now you're the fucking disposable scalpel expert, huh?"

"Maybe I am, Kurosaki." Uryuu turns his attention from the page to glare down at Ichigo. Their faces are close enough to compete for breath but it doesn't seem to be bothering them. "Got a problem with that?"

"Yeah, I'd say I do, Ishida. What're you gonna do about it?"

"Well, this isn't what I thought you meant by 'studying'," Rukia interrupts, walking up to them to rest a hand on Ichigo's spiky head and tuck Uryuu's fringe behind his ear to see his face better, "But if this is how you want to spend your time…"

"We _were_ studying, until this fool decided to debate—"

"It says that in the _notes_, god dammit!"

"How are you two even friends?"

"I wouldn't use that term," Uryuu states, straightening his glasses along the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't help that we have almost nothing in common, as it happens."

"Except for a mutual love of dubstep," Ichigo says, flashing Uryuu a grin. That much isn't surprising. Ichigo is known to all his friends for his random bouts of amusement. But the way that Uryuu returns the smile, albeit in his own small, measured way…that is very surprising. "And medicine, obviously."

"You mean you dorks were dub-stepping it up in here and didn't invite me?" she cries, mock-hurt. "All those times I tried to drag you to the club to dance with me, Uryuu, and you settle for this rascal!"

"There was absolutely no dancing involved, Rukia," Uryuu says, his tone a quiet warning for her not to start in with the match-making again.

"Maybe there should've been."

"Huh?" Ichigo interjects, suddenly lost. "Why won't you go to the club?"

"Uryuu despises bars and clubs and alcohol and dancing and fun in general. Isn't that right, Ishida-kuuun~?"

He sighs, closing his book and twisting to look at the two of them properly. "Of course I don't hate fun. What I hate is the idea of a bunch of irresponsible brats imbibing enough liquor to develop cirrhosis overnight for the sake of gyrating hormonally against one another in the hopes of eventual intercourse."

"What?" Poor Ichigo is struggling. "What are you, some kind of prude?"

"I guess you could say that," Uryuu mutters darkly, standing and heading down the hall.

"Hey, wait, Ishida!"

"Let him go, Ichigo."

They watch as he shuts the door behind him with a soft _snick_. Rukia steps over Ichigo to take Uryuu's previous place beside him. Ichigo pushes up to sit on the couch next to her, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown.

"The hell is his problem?"

"You'll have to ask him that. It's bad enough I outed him to you already. He's still mad about that."

"I don't give a shit if he's gay!"

"I _know_ that, Ichigo!" she whisper-shouts to get his attention without broadcasting their topic to Uryuu. "But he's a very sensitive person in some ways. Keep calling him a prude and see how long he keeps talking to you."

"Ugh. That was kind of douche-y, wasn't it?" Ichigo asks, rubbing the back of his neck. The myriad necklaces hanging there clink and shift with the movement.

"Mhmm."

"Maybe I should apologize?"

"Probably a good idea. But not tonight," she advises. Ichigo looks at her, full of trust and remorse. His eyes great russet pools of liquid affection. How could anyone not love him in their own way? Rukia has always thought of him as a kid brother and that's why she's not afraid to use 'tough love' with him. "He's probably sick of your face after spending hours with you. But I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"First, a question."

"Shoot."

"Is it just a physical thing or do you actually want to get to know him?"

"W-what kind of question is that, all of the sudden?" Ichigo deflects, exhaling an awkward, breathy laugh. Not exactly unexpected, since they haven't talked about Ichigo's super-obvious crush on her roommate thus far. They haven't even talked about whether or not he's into men. Rukia doesn't answer. She waits and Ichigo inevitably relents. "It's…not just physical, okay?"

Nodding, she smiles. "I figured. But listen, Ichigo, this isn't going to be as easy as your other ventures. Uryuu is a really good guy but he has issues. He doesn't talk about his family much but I've heard stories and it doesn't sound pleasant. I met his dad once and if they didn't look so much alike, I'd never have believed they were related."

"Complete ass, I know."

"Yep."

"So you're saying—what exactly?"

"I'm saying, you dullard," she huffs. Sometimes this guy can be a little thick. "You have to play this cool. Let him come to you."

"Playing hard-to-get isn't really my style."

"Definitely not, but that's what it's going to take." Ichigo watches her uncertainly, so she elaborates. "If you chase him, he's going to run. Think of him as a helpless bunny rabbit and you're the big bad wolf. You can catch the bunny by setting a trap with a carrot, right?"

Now Ichigo smirks, appreciating the metaphor more than he should. "Okay, I think I follow. So I have to roll out the bait, right?"

"Without being too overt! Remember he's very intelligent and if he catches onto you it'll never work."

"So, he's 'Bugs Bunny' Ishida, got it. Then what's this big idea of yours?"

* * *

This weekend seemed further away than a Saturday has any right to be. Ichigo has dutifully followed Rukia's plan, avoiding Ishida for five whole agonizing days. But if it works, it'll be worth it. He hopes. Slinging his gym bag over a shoulder, Ichigo strides into the campus gym and heads for the weight room. He pops a head into the yoga class to confirm that Ishida is there, as Rukia assured he always is this time of day.

Ichigo spots him coming up from Downward Dog into Chaturanga in perfect synchrony with the instructor. His dark fringe shifts across his cheek with the motion and a bead of sweat rolls from his hairline down his temple. Every second Ichigo waits there puts him at risk of being caught, but he can't help himself. He wants a recording of this to watch on repeat before he goes to bed at night. The smooth, controlled way Ishida's body flows effortlessly, lean muscles bunching and relaxing in flawless concert. There is nothing weak or excessive in his form. Hell, he's better than the instructor, who's trembling a little on Plank.

With a wistful sigh, Ichigo turns to leave at last. He has about half an hour to kill before the yoga class is over and he can intercept Ishida on his way to the track. Not for the first time, Ichigo wonders how Rukia knows so much about Ishida's schedule. He doesn't seem the type to divulge so many details freely. Maybe she's secretly a spy. He could see that.

Absent thoughts and rock music accompany his weight training. This is something he started on a dare from his father a long time ago and just kept doing because he liked it. The fact that it helps him pick up whoever he wants is a nice bonus. Not that he uses that advantage often, though.

Soon the monotony of reps, burning muscles, and steady breaths mesmerize him, skewing his perception of time. When he realizes he's listened to nearly the entire Lostprophets album, he knows he's late. Quickly, he sets the free-weights down and grabs his towel to dry off, swiping the fabric over his forehead. That's when he looks up and makes immediate eye contact with Ishida, standing near the edge of the area.

The man blinks in mild shock at being discovered and hesitates before slowly strolling over.

"Kurosaki," he greets, carefully keeping his eyes on Ichigo's face instead of his exposed arms. His eyes twitch over twice before he gets it under control.

"Ishida," Ichigo returns, biting back his grin.

"Having a workout?"

"Yep."

"Hn."

Glancing awkwardly around the room, Ishida looks like he's resisting a pretty big urge to fidget. Ichigo wonders why he walked over to chat if he didn't have anything to say. Either way, he's just glad he's getting a second chance at 'Operation: Catnip'—where Ishida is the cat and Ichigo is the nip.

"Well, it was good seeing you but I'm headed to the track for a run. See you around, Ishida."

"Yeah…" he murmurs and Ichigo mentally laments. Only for a second, though. "Hey, wait, Kurosaki. I was actually going to run for a bit, too."

"Cool."

Ichigo tosses a welcoming glance over his shoulder but doesn't wait to see if Ishida follows as he resumes walking. After a moment, he hears footsteps. Then Ishida is walking beside him. He resists the urge to strike up an elated conversation. _Bait the bunny_, _bait the bunny_, he chants in his head. Kurosaki somehow doubts Ishida would appreciate the docile animal comparisons.

They reach the track after several long seconds of silence. Setting their bags aside, they amble out to the center and pick separate lines to run within. Even though they didn't say anything about a race, it suddenly feels like one. It's a subtle, adrenaline-inspiring energy about them as they shake out their limbs and prepare for the exertion.

"How many laps?" Ishida's cool tenor inquires.

"I usually do about ten."

"Adequate."

"Ready?"

"When you are."

Ichigo nods once and they're off like greyhounds at the races. Normally, he would take his time, pace himself and just jog. But Ishida is running like he means it and damned if Ichigo is going to lose. They keep more or less neck-and-neck for seven laps. Breathing becomes labored but they both regulate it to stay deep and slow as much as possible.

It's embarrassing to think it, but Ichigo is actually having trouble keeping his attention on the race. His admiration for the man beside him grows each extra moment they spend together and right now Ishida is in warrior-mode. Eyes focused and sharp, jaw set in concentration, and long body working at maximum efficiency. This is ridiculously hot. Ichigo starts to lag just a bit. On the last lap, he gets serious again and pulls abreast of Ishida. Rukia's plan requires he win this little contest, so he can't afford to be distracted. Rallying all of his reserve-strength, Ichigo puts on a burst of speed just past the last half of the final lap, pulling ahead in time to beat Ishida.

Except the little sneak was apparently holding back on purpose because he comes careening past Ichigo at the last second and passes the line an instant before him. Suddenly _The_ _Fast and the Furious_ comes to mind. Ichigo staggers to a stop and stares as he works on catching his breath. He's smiling, the devil!

"You—"

"If you say 'cheated'," Ishida gasps, shaking his head and wiping at his forehead, "So help me, Kurosaki."

"Heh." Their plan is foiled, but Ichigo is too impressed to be properly upset right now. In that last moment, Ishida had bounded over the ground like a fleeting impala, impassive expression and all. Ichigo wants to see that again soon. "Next week I'll totally kick your ass."

Ishida huffs a breathless laugh as he stoops to retrieve his bag and head for the door, but he doesn't deny the implication for future races. Following, Ichigo thinks about where they're headed and Plan B pops into his head like a gift. It's contingent on Ishida being kind of a pompous winner. Luckily, that's a given.

"Your time wasn't _that_ impressive."

"Just accept the fact that you suck at running, Kurosaki."

"Not until you accept the fact that you suck at wrestling."

"What? Wrestli—Ngh!?"

Ichigo tackles him to the stretching mat, sending their bags carelessly flying. He goes for the pin right away, but Ishida catches on too quickly. They struggle against each other quietly, alerting no one since their corner is somewhat secluded from most of the action. Ichigo is grinning; he can't help it. What a perfect excuse to touch Ishida as much as he wants!

He'll say this for him: Ishida is as _fast_ as a rabbit, and twice as flexible. The way he anticipates Ichigo's moves and reacts on a dime tells of practice, innate talent, or both. But Ichigo is more determined than he's ever been in his life. This is his last chance at Rukia's ploy and he'll be damned if he's going to give up without one hell of a fight. So he doesn't relent when his strength starts to wane. He doesn't let up when Ishida begins making the cutest little frustrated growling sounds. Though he does briefly consider giving in when he starts to feel the beginnings of arousal creeping into his blood. He'll just have to end this sooner than he'd initially planned.

Rotating his hips to get better torque and greater leverage, Ichigo shifts forward over his hips and bears down hard on Ishida's shoulders, anticipating the pin. He takes it. Ishida gasps and goes rigidly still. Alarmed, Ichigo lets off and looks carefully. His face is flushed, breath coming quick and shallow. Ishida's eyes are shut and his brows are slightly furrowed as if in pain.

"Shit, Ishida, did I hurt you?"

He pauses before answering in a hoarse whisper, "N-no. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Ichigo says, getting all the way off him and gingerly pulling Ishida along as he stands. Ishida opens his eyes, looking shaken. "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt, I said."

"Then why are you making that face?"

Again, he hesitates. "Because you actually beat me, you moron."

It's Ichigo's turn to stare in silence. Then, "You're kidding."

"I've never fought anyone I couldn't take…"

"Fucking hell, Ishida! You scared the shit outta me, you ass."

"Yeah, well…you deserved it."

"As if."

Even though he wants to bitch some more, Ichigo holds back because Ishida is slouching just a bit. Normally he has excellent posture, so this is ringing some warning bells. Whether the jerk is really injured or not, he seems dead-set on insisting he's fine, so there's nothing else Ichigo can say. Wordlessly, he grabs Ishida's bag and hands it over before grabbing his own. He leads and Ishida follows, electing not to complain when it becomes clear that Ichigo intends on seeing him home since it's on the way to Ichigo's apartment anyway.

The walk is actually short, but it's enough time for Ishida to straighten and lose the pinched look. Relieved, Ichigo forgoes knocking and pushes right in when they arrive. Rukia is sitting on the couch with a giant sketchbook, hands covered in colored charcoal dust.

"What are you, Rainbow Bright? It's called a sink. Use it."

"Oh, shut up, Ichigo. You don't understand my 'process'."

"Messiness is part of the experience," Ishida mutters as if quoting a line. Maybe he is.

"What happened to you?" she cries, setting her book aside to walk to Ishida in worry. Her small hands envelope his face, smearing hues as she evaluates him. Ichigo feels like an even bigger dick now. Especially when she beams accusatory lasers at his forehead. "What did you do to him, Ichigo?"

"Nothing, if you ask him."

"Just a bruised ego," Ishida chimes in, brushing aside her Technicolor concern. "I need a shower."

Ichigo perks up at that, just for an instant. Then he remembers the incensed woman glaring at him.

"That wasn't part of the plan, _Ichigo_," she hisses once Ishida is safely shut into the bathroom. "You were supposed to turn him on, not wear him out!"

"I lost the race, okay?" he growls right back. "I had to _improvise_ since you didn't give me a damned contingency."

"I didn't think you'd _need_ one, you oaf. Weren't you the soccer star in high school?"

"He'd rival Usain Bolt!" Rukia gives him a look. He takes a breath and thinks. They hear the shower come on, so they don't bother whispering anymore. "Look, I just figured if I couldn't beat him at a footrace, I could take him at a wrestling match. And I won. But right as I went in for the kill, he just…froze."

"Did he make this face?" Eyes shut, brows furrowed, painful. Yep, that's it. Ichigo nods. "I was afraid of that."

"What? He wasn't in pain?"

"Mm, more like the opposite."

"Wha—Oh."

"Yeah. You didn't think that might happen?"

"That wrestling with me for five minutes would turn him on enough that he'd get hard?" Ichigo muses, tone taking on an inappropriate note. "Not really. Why do you know what that face looks like, anyway?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said I accidentally walked in on him."

"Oh…Right."

Actually, the idea hadn't occurred to him then but now that she mentions it, it makes sense. If Ichigo was in danger of the same, it's entirely possible Ishida could've actually jumped off that ledge. It's also unbelievably erotic. Thoughts drifting to the naked, dripping wet beauty not ten feet down the hall, Ichigo has to clear his throat in discomfort because that. _So_ hot.

"Sometimes I wonder, Ichigo…"

"Wait."

"What is it now?"

"So if you're right and he _was_ turned on…then that means he's attracted to me, right?"

The question is innocent but Rukia eyes him like she can't decide whether to smack him or pity him.

"Of course, you moron! Isn't that why we're scheming?"

"What are you scheming about?" Ishida casually asks, walking towards them mostly dry and fully dressed.

"Wow, you're fast!"

"What are you still doing here, Kurosaki? Go home before you stink up the place."

Ichigo glares at his back as he heads for the front door. "Hey, where are you going?"

"That is none of your concern," Ishida snaps, nearly slamming the door as he leaves.

"Oh, dear," Rukia sighs, resting her cheek in her palm and shaking her head. "We're going to have to think up a _much_ better plan."


	5. Chapter 5

AN: A bit more POV switching in this chapter than usual, but it's also twice as long as usual, too. I hope you don't mind! And don't mind the cliffhanger, either...next update will be tomorrow ;D

* * *

Uryuu ignores every single text from Kurosaki for almost a week. Taking a break from the man really serves to highlight just how much time they were actually spending together. He doesn't feel bad about keeping his distance, either. Though there's no way Kurosaki could have known that Uryuu would almost definitely have a certain reaction to physical contact with him, he had no right to assume he could just _grab_ him like that. Rivalry or no. Who does he think he is, exactly? Uryuu's friend? He's pretty sure men are not supposed to have this amount of naughty ideas about their friends. Or argue as much as they tend to. No, he and Kurosaki are definitely not friends. They're more like colleagues than anything. Studying and working out together is one thing, but he doesn't need anyone feeling so comfortable with him that they start spontaneous wrestling matches whenever they feel like it.

"You're brooding about him again, aren't you?"

"No."

"Liar~" Rukia sing-songs. "Just admit that you miss him and text him back. Hasn't he suffered enough?"

"I doubt it."

Adding the final touches to an icing pattern on a cake Uryuu baked, Rukia sets down the frosting bag and gives him a rare serious expression. They've spent the past two hours making items for a bake sale organized by a charity they participate with. So far he's been able to avoid _the talk_ but he senses it's inevitable now. She grabs the cake box lid and carefully covers their final creation before turning to face him with her full attention.

"Uryuu, I know he overstepped but don't you think this is a little cruel?"

"Cruel? By neglecting his texts?"

"By neglecting his _friendship_." Uryuu's reflexive scoff deepens her frown. "I know it's hard for you to believe people care about you sometimes, but Ichigo is a very sweet guy and I know he feels badly about what happened. Even if he doesn't really understand it."

"We barely know each other! And he has other friends—"

"Not like _you_, silly man." Frown softening into a gentle smile, Rukia steps forward to pull Uryuu into an impromptu hug. He reacts to the unexpected affection as he usually does: with awkwardness and uncertainty. But he returns it and that's all that matters. "I want you to text him right now and tell him you want to study for that organic chemistry quiz you two have tomorrow."

"But—"

"Right now, Uryuu."

Uryuu sighs, but then he nods and goes to his room to get his iPhone.

Twenty minutes later, Kurosaki is on their doorstep and Rukia is fleeing the premises under pretense of a girl's night out with Yoruichi, Rangiku, and Nanao. She gives Uryuu a pat on the cheek on the way out, waving at Kurosaki when she passes him.

Kurosaki steps in and sheds his shoes and jacket before following Uryuu into the living room. They make eye contact once or twice but verbal communication is slow in coming. Two cold beers sit on the table and Uryuu wordlessly pushes one in Kurosaki's direction. He takes it, opens it, sips it. Uryuu leaves his where it stands for now. Pulling out his books and notes, he clears his throat and tries to think of something to say. Kurosaki fidgets with his bottle and looks anywhere but at him.

"So—"

"Listen, I know I already apologized in text but let me just say it now, okay?" Kurosaki blurts, setting the bottle down a little too energetically. "I'm really fucking sorry for whatever it was I did to piss you off so much. And if you tell me what I did, I promise I'll never do it again."

Uryuu doesn't think to hide his stunned expression. He is too busy analyzing Kurosaki. Open, honest, contrite. Sad. Hopeful. He sighs.

"Damn it, Rukia," he mutters under his breath and pushes a hand through his hair. "Why are you always right?"

"Ishida?"

Looking up, he feels his under-exercised sympathy neuron throb in response to the pathetic expression Kurosaki is making. He doesn't like this. This isn't what he wanted. Somehow, he just wishes they could go back to arguing with each other, teasing and cajoling. Uryuu misses that.

"Okay, Kurosaki."

"Okay?"

"I forgive you. Now let's study."

Relief smoothes his brow and relaxes his shoulders for a moment before he's leaning forward in concern once more. "But…at least tell me what it was. Rukia had a theory but you know how she is. She once had a theory about the Easter Bunny being real, rabbit-obsessed weirdo that she is."

Uryuu's eyes flare at that. Rukia couldn't possibly have told him the truth…could she? That kind of breach of confidence is too severe. Besides, Kurosaki wouldn't be so calm about it if he knew. He'd be amused, maybe even disgusted, but he wouldn't be this accepting.

"Let's call it…extreme tactile aversion." That's about as close to the truth as he's willing to get. Kurosaki thinks about that for a minute before nodding. "Now can we study?"

* * *

Ichigo is fairly certain he's succeeding only in driving Ishida partially insane. For the past several weeks they've been studying, playing games, watching TV, listening to music, and working out together; spending more time together than apart if you didn't count sleep. Ishida never does the inviting, but he almost never declines as long as there's something productive to do or he has nothing better to do anyway. It's convenient having someone to study with who shares most of your classes. Plus, the few times Ishida declines anything out of pure spite, Ichigo makes a point to annoy him until he regrets it.

He isn't ignoring his friends, though; it just happens that Ishida doesn't like them much and it's mutual. Keigo in particular hates him for some reason. Chad is cool with pretty much anybody and Mizuiro doesn't care one way or the other. Renji has been too busy with his engineering program to do much else so he hasn't even met Ishida yet. Besides, everyone has their hands full with school as the semester works up to finals. Rukia is never excluded, though she finds other things to do more often than not.

Ichigo is also pretty sure she's enjoying his awkward seduction of Ishida more than he is because it's _not working_.

There are times when Ichigo forgets the _hard_-to-get part and comes on a little too strongly for his own good. A touch here, lack of personal space there, maybe a bit of lingering eye contact to accompany an otherwise inane comment. He gets ahead of himself and goes for it like he normally would. But Ishida's reaction is always the same: confusion, analysis, and dismissal. In that order, without fail.

One of those oversights almost ruins everything, though. It starts with a casual invitation.

"Hey, Ishida," he murmurs across the library table halfway through their study-session. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Why?" Ishida returns without looking up from his textbook.

"It's Chad's birthday and the guys want to go to that club with the neon palm trees—"

"I don't do clubs, Kurosaki. You know that."

It is said without heat or particular interest. Ichigo almost sighs. This isn't the first time he's attempted to get Ishida to go out for a night with everyone but this time will be different. Mostly because Rukia has given him some pointers on subtle manipulation that only women can truly master.

"I know, but Chad requested you specifically. He wants to thank you for helping him with that term paper by buying you a drink and hanging out with you outside of class for once."

Just as Rukia predicted, Ishida's regard for Chad is enough that his conscience is stirred at the thought of a debt owed. The way he glances askance and shifts marginally speaks volumes. Then Ishida clears his throat and Ichigo senses victory.

"There's no need for compensation—"

"Aw, come on, Ishida. It's his _birthday_. He wants you there," Ichigo shamelessly wheedles. He doesn't feel the least bit guilty, partially because Chad really _does_ want Ishida there. But also because Ichigo is fucking desperate to see Ishida tipsy; it might be the only way to finally break past his steel defenses and end this one-sided war of attrition. "It took a lot for him to ask."

Ishida turns his face downward, frowning softly. He blinks twice. Adjusts his glasses, pushes his hair behind his ear. Takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a handful of seconds.

"Fine," he snaps. "But only for a little while."

Ichigo saves his grin for later, lest he give away the game.

He brings it out full force the next night when Ishida is reluctantly joining their little group in the street outside of his apartment. Rukia skipping excitedly ahead of him in her frilly purple dress, nearly tripping on the stairs in too-tall heels. To his credit, Ishida actually dressed appropriately for this event.

Normally stately in his pressed black slacks and matching silver-striped vest, Ishida is now positively naughty in tight grey jeans, a dark blue v-neck, and a trendy black jacket that fits him just right. In the deep pointed hollow of bare chest, he wears the simple silver pentagram, the same one he always wears as a bracelet. The shirt is just a tiny bit too small for him, showing a slice of pale midriff when he makes certain movements. The tighter fabric clearly displays all of the toned musculature that his looser clothing tends to hide.

Ichigo idly wonders if he could get him to wear something a bit more colorful one of these days. Still, even mostly monochrome, Ishida is a sight to behold.

"You like?" Rukia whispers behind her hand to him when she reaches the group first.

"You did that?"

Her sly grin answers for her. Ichigo shoots her a grateful one right back. Then he turns his attention to subtly ogling Ishida as the man walks up and quietly greets them. As they start walking towards the nearby club, it's all Ichigo can do not to stare at his ass in those _jeans_.

* * *

Uryuu tells himself he's not going to drink a single drop of alcohol, he'll only stay for an hour, and he will _not_ dance. Those are his conditions for accompanying this ragtag bunch to such an iniquitous cesspool when he could be studying. Carefully slipping past a pair of lesbians enthusiastically making out near the door, Uryuu follows the group further in to the cacophonous cavern and checks the time. Fifty-eight minutes to go.

"Rum shots for everyone!" announces Asano to the bartender. "My friends here need a quick buzz!"

"Speak for yourself," Rukia corrects the flailing idiot. "I pre-gamed, so I won't need anything for a while."

By that she means she had sipped a bottle of hard cider over the course of almost an hour, whilst trying to get Uryuu to take a shot or five of her chilled French vodka. She had lost that fight, but she had won the argument about his outfit. Grudgingly, he is glad she was so insistent because he would have stood out in his usual attire. Kurosaki's type of dress is much more common in this kind of establishment. Speaking of Kurosaki, Uryuu was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off the man in low-slung khakis and a stupidly tight green t-shirt. A sky-blue wristband with an Interpol logo is his only jewelry, aside from his permanent piercings. His patent red leather jacket was checked at the door, leaving his torso practically naked. If he looks too hard, Uryuu can almost make out nipples.

Add that to the way he keeps shooting smirks at everyone like he's the most content man in the room—like some kind of well-fed, prowling tiger—and Uryuu is more tempted to break one of his rules than he would care to admit. As it is, he refuses Asano's offer of a sickly-sweet shot and moves to speak with Sado.

"Happy birthday," he congratulates. Sado gives a small smile and a shallow nod. "Is this your twentieth?" Another nod. "Better watch out, then. I'm sure your friends aren't going to let you leave until you're trashed."

"You're probably right," Sado agrees in his mellow bass. "I was considering faking it."

"Like hell that'd work," Kurosaki interrupts, walking over with a shot for each of them. Sado shrugs at Uryuu and drinks down the little glass of poison willingly enough. "I've done it enough times to know when it's fake."

Kojima, standing behind Kurosaki, giggles at this and Kurosaki winks at Uryuu. Spectacularly befuddled by this exchange, he is distracted enough to accept a token as it is handed to him. Then he glances at the object and scowls. Rukia has just given him a double-shot of whiskey and he does not appreciate the joke. He goes to force it back on her but catches Sado giving him a strange look.

"You don't drink, Ishida?"

"Erm, no. Not really."

"Not hard-liquor anyway," Rukia adds.

"Because he hates fun," Kurosaki explains.

"What? Who hates fun?" Suddenly Asano is in his face. "Are you some kind of Neo-Nazi? Anti-fun brigade? What's up with that, man?"

"Is it a religious thing?" Next is Kojima, looking curiously at his grandfather's cross. "No alcohol except at Communion?"

"You don't have a medical condition, do you?" Sado's earnest concern is the final question to break Uryuu's back. "Ichigo mentioned you have low blood pressure."

"No! No, no, and no! I'm not a Nazi, a Catholic, sickly, or anti-fun! In fact, I love fun, am agnostic, haven't caught so much as a cold in over five years, and despise bigotry of any kind." His outburst is met with identical looks of surprise and doubt. They'll start backing away slowly any second now. Seeing no easy way out of this without coming across as a total asshole, Uryuu does the only thing he can think to do. "Fuck it."

He downs the double shot in one hard gulp, then grabs the rum Asano is still holding and shoots that one, too. When that doesn't get a reaction from them, he turns to the bar and says, "Can I get a Long Island over here?"

"Holy shit," Kurosaki says, breaking the spell. His grin is admiring and elated. "Ishida knows how to party after all."

Uryuu snorts, taking his tea and offering a bill in exchange. As he doesn't often drink more than about 15-proof, it takes about thirty seconds for the alcohol to begin taking affect. His mind fuzzes over and all the analytical commentary running through it slows. His blood buzzes pleasantly as he takes a few sips of his drink and glances around the club. That's when he realizes no one is watching him anymore. With one simple act of mimicry, he has earned their acquiescence. Even Sado has relaxed enough to go back to his usual stoic expression.

With an inward sigh of relief, Uryuu leans against the bar and drinks. The others follow his example, chatting amiably to each other. Tasteful electronic music blares from across the room, accompanied by flashing lights and uncoordinated dancers. Drunken college kids displaying physical prowess in pursuit of a salacious goal never looked so artistic. On a whim, he takes out his iPhone and snaps a picture of the crowd.

"Ah, don't be a voyeur, Ishida! Join them!"

He slats a disapproving glance at Rukia, saying without words what he thinks of that practice. "I refuse."

"Why?"

"Shit, Rukia, why'd you have to ask him that?"

"What is your problem, Kurosaki?"

"Well, now you're going to go on one of your rants, right? For why you're too good to participate in such a mediocre ritual of primitive mating dances…or something like that."

"What makes you think he's not just a poor dancer?" Kojima offers. "The same reason Keigo won't dance until he's drunk."

"If you've seen Ishida walk," Kurosaki snorts, rolling his eyes at the idea, "You wouldn't suggest he can't dance. I mean look at this guy. He's practically built for it. Sinuous and—ow! What the fuck, Rukia?"

She shoots him a weird look which promptly shuts him up. Uryuu glares at them suspiciously, but he's distracted by Sado's unexpected question.

"Would you dance if I went with you?"

"Um."

"Look, now he's going to turn down the birthday boy's only request," Asano nearly snarls. "Why did you even come?"

That man has always disliked him. Uryuu scowls. Then he sucks down the rest of his L.I. tea in four long draughts. He's beginning to feel a bit coerced, but what can he do, short of leaving altogether? He still has forty-three minutes.

"Come on," he tells Sado.

The rest of the group stays by the bar as the two of them make their way over to the dance floor. It's easier to listen to the rough bass beat and tune out all the people than it should be. Uryuu doesn't wait for Sado to start dancing before he finds his rhythm and gives his body leave to react. Fortunately, he has always had a decent sense of what is appropriate and which moves just look foolish. Like the young woman near the stage who forgot that whipping your arms around in circles doesn't actually appeal to anyone's sensibilities. Or the gentleman near the stage who keeps dipping to his knees and snapping back up, nearly knocking people over all around him with each unsightly squat. Alternatively, Uryuu dances with his hips and lets the rest of his body follow. His hair is free to swoop about his face, swishing from side to side. He has his eyes closed now anyway.

One of his favorite songs by Flux Pavilion comes on and he smiles, thinking of the afternoon he spent listening to music with Kurosaki. That was one of the handful of times he's felt an easy friendship towards the man. They had bickered, laughed, and talked for hours to the accompaniment of Uryuu's library. It still happens occasionally, sneaking up on him until he notices a certain bubble of levity and humor that he's not used to experiencing.

Thinking of him makes Uryuu curious. He's never seen Kurosaki dance. Hasn't gotten around to thinking of it, either. Now he wants to see it. Standing in the same spot he left him, Kurosaki is looking in their general direction, sipping from a lowball and commenting to Rukia. Uryuu wants to drag him over here. The part of his brain that would normally check this impulse and attenuate it with logic is offline. There is no override to this command.

He's going in.

"Kurosaki," he begins when he's in hearing-range, "Why the hell aren't you dancing?"

"Uh, that's because—"

"Even Asano and Kojima are cooler than you." Berating Kurosaki like this is fun, as ever. Rukia offers him a shot, which he takes without hesitation. It's just easier this way. "And Rukia, what's your excuse? Weren't you the one asking me to go dancing with you?"

"I was keeping him company," she absently defends with a thumb in Kurosaki's direction. Setting down her nearly-empty Cosmopolitan, Rukia beams at him and straightens her dress before holding out her tiny hand. "But I would love to dance!"

Uryuu takes the offered hand and shoots Kurosaki a dirty look when he remains at the bar. They regroup with Sado, Kojima, and Asano in the crowd. For a while it's all clever flailing and careful sashaying to the persistently hypnotic beat of good music. They alternately admire and laugh at each others' crazy dance moves. Uryuu spins and dips Rukia like a ballroom pro and Sado gives him a hearty thumbs-up for his impressive repertoire. Despite his reservations, he is having actual fun.

Eventually, he recalls his earlier desire: get Kurosaki to the floor. Shooting a quick glance, he sees Kurosaki hasn't moved from the same spot by the bar. This will simply not do. Again, he stalks over to him, without Rukia to buffer the exchange. He doesn't say a word. They stare each other down until Kurosaki breaks it to take a sip of his watered-down whiskey. Uryuu yanks it from his hand and slams it onto the countertop. The quick movement almost puts him off-balance, which is odd. He doesn't feel drunk, but that should've been a simple enough maneuver. Uryuu ignores this and glares.

Kurosaki eyes him evenly.

Briefly, he considers dragging the man over whether he wants to go or not. The thought seems naggingly childish, though, so Uryuu refrains. He's already tried words. Force isn't going to cut it. Alcohol clearly isn't a factor. Then what's left? How can he get Kurosaki to dance? Somewhere in Uryuu's 'lizard brain', he knows the answer, but his cerebellum is telling him that's a stupid idea. He doesn't care. Kurosaki will dance if it's Uryuu's last conscious achievement of the night! So he listens to his animal side for once in his pathetically inhibited life.

In a series of fluid movements, Uryuu trades the glare for a smirk, slides into Kurosaki's personal space, and places steadying hands on the bar to either side of him before beginning to dance. Measured and methodical like a planned attack. He watches Kurosaki's eyes flare wide, sees his quick intake of breath as he straightens. Uryuu is careful not to touch. He doesn't think he could hold himself back if he touched. But he stays damn close.

The music is quieter here, but Uryuu finds it and latches on. Closes his eyes to feel it better. Lets it guide him like so many intangible hands pressing against his skin in a series of gentle waves. He rocks with it, the precise beat sweeping in and superseding his heart's faithful pacemaker cells, chambers squeezing to the superior timing of a beautifully complex metronome. He lets his head fall back, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders as his spine arches. Hips pivot and roll, knees and elbows bend and flex with the cyclical motions. Hair brushes the side of his face as he tilts left and right and left. Uryuu takes in a deep, sustaining breath. Slowly exhales through slightly parted lips.

"_God damn_," he distantly hears Kurosaki hiss. Uryuu pulls himself back from the fog of his musical interim with some difficulty. When he opens his eyes, Kurosaki is breathing hard, eyes anywhere but on him. "Fuck. You win, Ishida. I'll dance. Just…let's go back with the others, okay?"

Dimly, he wonders why the unshakable Kurosaki looks shaken, but he swiftly decides he doesn't care; he got what he wanted. Releasing the bar, Uryuu deconstructs Kurosaki's cage and leads the way back to the dance floor with a victorious smile. Rukia is grinning manically and Asano is frowning. Kojima and Sado seem amused.

"Look who isn't too 'cool for school' after all," Rukia harangues. Her skirt swishes energetically as she scoots closer to them. "Was that really so _hard_, Ichigo?"

Uryuu doesn't get the joke, but he can't miss the way Kurosaki goes a little red at the comment. But now Kurosaki is obligingly dancing, albeit half-heartedly. Uryuu watches him surreptitiously, peering through the close border of his thick eyelashes. It's obvious that Kurosaki is self-conscious with this. His movements are tight and a tad off-beat. He stares out into the middle-distance with a pensive expression, whereas their friends take turns glancing and smiling at each other as they shimmy.

After about twenty minutes of this, the others take a dancing break and head for another round back at the bar. Uryuu is drunk. He knows this now, and he knows he doesn't need to get any drunker, so he doesn't join them for refreshments. Neither does Kurosaki, who remains dancing somewhat awkwardly a few feet from Uryuu. He's still not looking at Uryuu, which is fine. He is content watching Kurosaki; he doesn't require interaction. Yet, somehow they end up closer together. He can't remember making a conscious decision to close the distance, nor seeing Kurosaki close it.

Now Kurosaki is finally looking at him and Uryuu can't pretend he's just dancing with his eyes closed anymore. He watches Kurosaki's eyes drift over his working body with an odd expression. Almost like he can't decide what to do about any of this. Uryuu can relate. As it stands, Uryuu is in danger of doing something ridiculous. He can sense it, looming like the weight of a devastating question. Problem is he's not sure what it is yet.

On some level, Uryuu knows what he _should _do. He should casually turn and take a couple of steps away, face a different direction to discourage what is clearly turning into the two of them dancing like a couple. Eyes intent, bodies close, exclusionary of everyone else. This isn't how pseudo-friends dance, no matter how much he happens to be enjoying it. It wouldn't even seem strange, since the crowd has shifted around them, engulfing them into its roiling center like a hungry T-cell. Surrounded on all sides, he could dance with any one of these other lone students. A few of them give him a welcoming nod or wink.

On the other hand, Kurosaki is less intoxicated. He didn't want to dance in the first place. Oh, and he's also straight. So why is this happening?

Then Kurosaki's breath tousles his hair and Uryuu feels a little shiver, blinking for a few milliseconds too long. With a short gasp, he realizes it's too late. Kurosaki is _right here_ and he's making eye-contact as though fervently attempting telepathy. The realization spills across Uryuu's unguarded face, alerting his partner to a shift in the mood. And Uryuu almost gasps again because Kurosaki chooses that moment to break into a mischievous grin and step into Uryuu's stance, their feet falling into line. Kurosaki's hands go to his waist and he can feel the wristband pressing at the fabric of his shirt, pushing it up. The rubber warmth of it dragging against his bare skin triggers another mild shiver.

"Kurosaki," he manages despite a distinct shortage of air in his lungs. "What—?"

"You wanted me to dance, right?" he rumbles, low and teasing. Uryuu swears he can almost feel the vibrations of that sentence through his chest, alongside the thrumming music. "Did you change your mind?"

"No, but…"

But the way Kurosaki is dancing needs to be outlawed. His hands firmly planted on Uryuu are reminiscent of ownership, lightly guiding to match his pace. Eyes like amber coals fiercely tracking his movements. The tension has left his frame, leaving him limber and flowing like lava against Uryuu as if it doesn't matter that they don't do this. They would never do this for _so many reasons_.

All he can think is that he _loves_ this. Wants to spend the rest of the night glued to Kurosaki like this. No, better yet: Uryuu wants to follow him home. Let Kurosaki make good on what his smile seems to be promising. Grant access to the sensitive flesh Kurosaki's hot fingertips are sneaking under his shirt to graze. Eliminate the inches of distance between their hips and mouths. Rake his hands into that unkempt hair and push his tongue inside that parted mouth.

* * *

Even though he's only had one shot and one mixed drink, Ichigo feels about as drunk now as he's ever been. Staring into Ishida's hazy dark eyes and feeling the shift of him against his body where they are daringly connected. A drop of sweat falls from Ishida's hairline and sinks down the side of his neck. Ichigo wants to lean in and trace its path with his tongue. Then Ishida closes his eyes and tilts his head back as if granting permission to this secret request. The soft groan Ichigo exhales at that is lost in the heavy music around them.

He doesn't know how it came to this. When he resolved to get Ishida to the club, he pictured seeing him loosen up enough to let his super-extra-fortified guard down for half a second. Maybe hear some funny tidbits that the man would otherwise never share about himself. It seemed like a good idea at the time but _this_. Ishida with that sultry gaze and those ridiculous eyelashes and all this subtle movement creating the most erotic dance Ichigo could ever imagine…

It's a bit overwhelming.

"What's with that constipated look, Kurosaki?" he asks. Ichigo can't understand how he's not slurring right now; the amount of alcohol Ishida has consumed tonight would be enough to put Chad out, much less a slender man like him. He must have a wicked metabolism. "Did you forget how to dance all of a sudden?"

"Ishida, I can't even _think_ with you moving like this in front of me. Much less dance."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ishida stops dancing and frowns, takes a step back and Ichigo's hands fall from his warm waist. "If I disgust you that much, go dance with someone else."

With that, he turns and begins slipping between people to leave. Ichigo panics. He grabs Ishida and pulls him back to their spot, almost making them both fall flat on their asses from the sudden maneuver. Only Ishida is facing away from him now and Ichigo's chest grazes the man's back, hips mere centimeters from his ass. He takes the opportunity to sneak a deep inhale at the back of Ishida's neck. Right where hair meets skin at the apex, the concentration of his personal scent. It is _magnificent_. If Ichigo was the type for scented candles, he would need one in 'Ishida Uryuu' fragrance.

"Wait! Don't go making assumptions," Ichigo leans close to the man's ear to be sure he is heard. "I never said you disgust me. Actually, I…"

Here he pauses. If Rukia was beside them she would have kicked him in the shin by now. He's about to let slip that he's into Ishida and, drunk or not, that would most likely end poorly. But Ishida is turning his head to watch him skeptically and wait for elaboration of some kind. So Ichigo does the only thing he can think short of confession. He leans in and pecks the corner of Ishida's mouth. It lands more on his cheek than anything. The man freezes for half a second before spinning out of his loose hold to gape at him.

"Ku-Kurosaki, _what_—!?"

"Could a disgusted guy do that?" he covers, silently chastising himself for being too reckless. Ishida continues to stare with narrowed eyes so he grabs the man's shoulder and pulls him back into their dancing stance. "No, they couldn't. So shut up and dance."

To his surprise, Ishida does. He lets out a harried sigh and Ichigo feels the offense roll right out of his tense muscles, leaving him lissome with the sway of melody once more. Ishida places his hands on Ichigo's hips this time. His long fingers thread through the belt loops on each side; he uses the grip to correct minor discrepancies in rhythm like the obsessive-compulsive nerd he is. When Ishida sees the thought on his face, Ishida's smirk comes back full-strength. Reading Ichigo's mind as usual because he's an observant brainiac who has come to know him very well, whether Ishida wants to admit it or not. Ichigo loses a little more restraint, draping arms over his shoulders and drawing him closer.

They are almost nose-to-nose and Ishida doesn't seem to mind. He's holding the heated stare Ichigo is leveling at him. Someone nearby accidentally bumps into Ishida then, causing them to body-check each other. The gasp Ichigo can't smother at the feeling of that sinewy form crashing against him is eclipsed by the startled moan he hears from Ishida. The man looks up at him uncertainly as they separate, wondering if he's been caught for the unusual sound. But it wasn't just a sound. For a mere instant, Ichigo felt it: physical proof of Ishida's attraction to him manifested at the crux of his legs. The knowledge burns through Ichigo like lit accelerant and he cannot control what he does next.

With a desperate moan of his own, he yanks Ishida towards him and glues their bodies together as he dips down to kiss him. Ishida turns his head at the precise right—_wrong_, damn it!—moment and his mouth finds the soft span of skin just under the man's exposed ear. It has the same effect, though, and Ichigo relishes the resulting labored inhale. Ishida stutters his name when he presses blunt incisors into the delicate spot and drags. The man's fingernails dig into his sides but he doesn't push him away. Ichigo shifts up to sweep a hot tongue out and draw an earlobe in to nibble. At the same time, he tightens his hold around Ishida's lower back and reconnects their lower halves in a sparking shower of pleasure.

"Ahn! _Shit_…" Ishida is already panting against his neck. "Kurosaki, what're you doing!?"

Rather than answer in words, he grinds his hips forward to show Ishida what he wants. It wrings another low groan from him and the pressure of those nails increases before it disappears. Ishida grips his upper arms in imminent rejection, but he pauses before following through with the motion. Probably because Ichigo cleverly moves his lips lower to suck lightly at the juncture between throat and shoulder. He doesn't want to leave a mark, just in case there's any chance this will all be forgotten tomorrow morning, but neither does he want this to end so soon.

Ichigo flexes his spine to the music, as though in a dance, and if the motion happens to also create some friction between them so much the better. His tongue sweeps out again to rub the smooth bead of his piercing along the edge of Ishida's collar bone. Eyes closed and ears attuned, Ichigo catches every hitch in breath, stifled moan, and mindless murmur. It doesn't take long for the signature rise in pitch to indicate Ishida's entrance into that penultimate realm of arousal. The one directly preceding the finish line.

And the very idea that Ishida is so turned-on by him that he is about to lose it right in front of all these people almost spells Ichigo's own doom. He lifts his head with the intention of connecting their mouths _at last_. Unfortunately, it seems to break whatever influence he had over Ishida, who finally uses his well-placed grip to dislodge him. Ichigo stumbles into another dancer as Ishida makes a hasty escape…straight to the restroom at the back of the club.

Returning to his friends near the bar, Ichigo prays harder than ever before in his life. He prays that Ishida is too trashed to store any of this night in his long-term memory. Otherwise, it might all end here.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: This is probably the chapter you've all been waiting for, though it may be a little too intense for some. Remember those warnings I listed in the first chapter? Yeah.

* * *

With a quiet whine, Uryuu snaps awake to the sound of Rukia thudding around the kitchen with cookware. Her usual breakfast ritual. Uryuu resists the urge to groan aloud as he registers two things: he has a raging headache and matching hard-on. What kinds of horrible dreams is he having these days, that they can cause such egregious afflictions first thing in the morning!?

He climbs out of bed and shuffles to his bathroom like a fresh zombie. Smelling like one, too. Once he's clean and dressed—and no longer obnoxiously erect—Uryuu shambles down the hall to the kitchen and neglects to greet Rukia in favor of popping a can of ginger ale with a couple tablets of aspirin.

"Good morning, Uryuu!"

"Please," he pitifully winces at her volume, "I have the worst headache."

"We partiers call that a _hangover_, actually."

"What?"

"You know, that thing that you get when you drink enough alcohol to kill a moose," she giggles, considerately quiet. "I've never seen you drink more than a single beer in one night. I thought you were going to sleep until noon at least."

"Wait." Uryuu's heart pounds at double speed, making his head throb even more painfully. "Oh, god, please tell me it's not…Last night really _happened_?"

"Uh, well, yeah." Her smile diminishes when she realizes he's seconds away from a panic attack. "Hey, what is it, Uryuu? Are you okay?"

"No! Emphatically, no," he wheezes with radical respiration. That was a dream, right? That part about he and Kurosaki dancing together…"Rukia. What did I do last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"I desperately hope not, for all our sakes."

"Hey, it's all right," she consoles, stepping around the table to put a hand on his back. "You didn't do anything too embarrassing, if that's what you mean."

"What about Kurosaki?"

Understanding clears her expression. She sinks into a chair and visibly resists the urge to laugh, covering her mouth with a small hand. Uryuu scowls at her until she sobers up a bit.

"Well, you're not at his place, right?"

"Rukia!"

"What?" Laughing, she shakes her head at him. "All I'm saying is nothing too bad could've happened since you have no bruises, no cuts, and no weird stains. No need to fear for your virginity just yet!"

"Damn it, Rukia, I'm serious," Uryuu yells, then takes a moment to hold his pounding head. He sips ginger ale and rubs at his temple. She stops smiling. "I had this dream…I'm praying it didn't actually happen because if it did—"

"Ichigo won't talk to you again?" she interrupts, frowning now. "He'll hate you? Be disgusted by you? Or are you even more afraid he'd actually be interested?" When he remains silent, Rukia sighs. "Look, all I know is you two kept dancing while we went to get more drinks and talked. You were out there for about half an hour. Then Ichigo came back by the bar and said you went to the restroom. You met up with us a few minutes later and we all talked and goofed off until the bar closed."

"No one else saw us dancing?"

"Not that I know of. If I couldn't see you, I doubt anyone else could have."

Uryuu allows a bit of relief to set in. At least if he did make a fool of himself, it wasn't witnessed by people who could hold it against him later. That still doesn't change the fact that he can't remember whether he actually danced with Kurosaki like _that_ or not. He won't know until he sees the man again.

When he looks up from his soda, Rukia is sending a text. A ripple of apprehension tingles through him.

"Who was that to?"

"Ichigo."

"Regarding?"

"You."

Uryuu bites back the urge to shout just in time. It's too late to stop her, anyway. Instead, he clenches his fists and his eyes closed for a moment to try calming himself and clearing some of the haze from his mind. Rukia sets a plate of waffles and a bowl of fruit in front of him. She takes hers to go so she can make it to class on time. With a glare in her direction for this obvious attempt at placation, he grudgingly eats, hoping it will help settle his stomach. His attention is better focused on what's going to happen when Kurosaki shows up than being pissed at her anyway.

Ten minutes later, his stomach has stopped roiling, thankfully. Until the door swings open and in walks Kurosaki. Figures it would be sooner rather than later. He walks right up and gives Uryuu a hearty smile as he pats him on the shoulder. Uryuu almost chokes on a blueberry.

"Hey, Ishida, how's it going?" Uryuu coughs a couple of times in response, so Kurosaki continues without an answer. "Rukia told me you had a hangover. My bad!"

Yes, it is Kurosaki's fault, isn't it? He's the one who dragged Uryuu out to that club in the first place. Even if the way he says it with a wild grin indicates a complete lack of remorse. Wait, why is he acting so jovial? For lack of a better idea, Uryuu asks his usual question when Kurosaki shows up to their apartment.

"What are you doing here, Kurosaki?"

Pulling out a chair beside him, Kurosaki sits on it in reverse to lean arms against the back rest and gives his usual answer. "I just stopped by to check in with my favorite nerd."

Uryuu rolls his eyes. He's used to the epithet now, so it doesn't surprise him. Surely Kurosaki doesn't expect that answer to be sufficient this time?

"I was just about to head to class."

"That's weird, since you don't have class until two-thirty on Mondays and its," he takes a second to check his phone for accuracy, "Nine-fifteen."

"Why the hell do you know my class schedule?" he asks wearily. Thinking better of it, Uryuu raises a hand to halt the forthcoming response. "Actually, forget it. I don't care. Just get out, Kurosaki."

He slowly stands, intending to clear his dishes and try to go back to sleep. It doesn't work out that way. Mostly because Kurosaki intercepts him by snatching up his plate and bowl to rinse them in the sink. Uryuu stands there for a moment, baffled. He's always baffled when Kurosaki gets into these rare cheery, helpful moods. You'd almost think he got laid or something…

Oh, god.

Part of him wants to bite the bullet and just _ask_ _him_ what happened last night, if anything. The larger part of him is terrified of the answer, especially if it's 'nothing' and Uryuu gives himself away with the question. But no, Kurosaki has done this before when Uryuu was sure nothing had happened—between them, at least. There's no reason to assume the worst. Like Rukia said, he doesn't have any weird marks or anything like that. He can only remember bits and disconnected pieces of last night; he's probably overreacting.

Although there are definitely ways to have sex without leaving physical traces.

Uryuu walks away. He decides he doesn't care if Kurosaki leaves or not as long as he doesn't bother Uryuu. Now that he's eaten and the lancing pain in his cranium has diminished somewhat, his exhaustion is catching up to him. He pads down the hall to his room and crawls back into bed, clothes and all, though he sets his glasses back on his side table. Warm and comfortable, it doesn't take long for him to begin to drift.

He feels the bed dip beside him and his eyes pop open with incredulity. When Uryuu jerks his head sideways, he sees a blurry Kurosaki nonchalantly lying on his back beside him. His gaze appears to be fixed on the ceiling. Uryuu waits for several long seconds but Kurosaki doesn't say anything. On the contrary, he seems content to lie in complete silence. In Uryuu's bed. After he told Kurosaki to leave.

Finally, Uryuu can't take it anymore. He sits up and puts his glasses back on, the better to glare down at Kurosaki as he deserves.

"What are you doing, Kurosaki?" He asks civilly enough, considering, but he is ignored. And since Uryuu is tired and confused and cranky, he growls, "I said _what the fuck_ are you doing in my bed, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

Now Kurosaki glances at him, unperturbed but attentive. Uryuu wonders if he only looked over because he heard his given name from him for the first time. Maybe it was because he cursed like he meant it. Who knows?

Of course his hormones choose now to finally register that Kurosaki is _lying in his bed_ and all the things that could possibly entail. It doesn't help that his collection of piercings are all catching the morning light streaming through Uryuu's thin curtains. Or that he's wearing a brightly-colored, fire-patterned tank top that shows off his arms, currently folded behind his head and flexed impressively. And the too-tight pants he likes to wear are riding down just as his shirt is riding up, so Uryuu is getting the full view of his flat belly, ginger happy-trail and all. Kurosaki's bare feet hang over the edge of Uryuu's short bed, toes absently curling at intervals in the cool air.

Uryuu swallows and whips his gaze back up to see Kurosaki is indeed still watching him. He can feel his face turning red and knows there's nothing he can do about it. A small smile begins to tug at Kurosaki's mouth, making his labret glint like a coin in the canvas of his sun-darkened skin. Uryuu wants to snarl obscenities at him until Kurosaki never wants to smirk at him again. He wants to kick him out and tell him to never, ever come back.

He wants to rip his clothes off and screw his brains out.

Kurosaki slowly sits up and twists at the waist to face him fully. His smile fades away as he stares. Uryuu doesn't understand and that pisses him off. He doesn't like the way Kurosaki is looking at him or the fact that he's being so quiet. He _hates_ not knowing what Kurosaki is thinking when he does these things. Especially because he has become accustomed to being able to read him so well and this odd behavior is throwing a big fat wrench into their machine.

Uryuu's entire body goes rigid as Kurosaki suddenly grabs him. It turns out to be a hug, of sorts, but Uryuu can't relax because Kurosaki's warmth is seeping into his clothes. The shape of him pressed to Uryuu is almost more than he can handle. Kurosaki's scent engulfs him, a pleasant collection of soap and shampoo and clean skin. He must've just showered before he came over.

A flash of memory from last night jumps into his consciousness, quick as a fish darting out of the water. Back on the dance floor, a small sea of people undulating all around them, Kurosaki whispering something into his ear as they move as one entity. The rough drag of stubble and the smooth dots of metal across Uryuu's cheek. Then soft, hot, moist at the corner of his parted mouth.

And then it's gone. Kurosaki releases him and stands in one motion. Uryuu is left shell-shocked in a swirl of white comforter as he struggles to recover.

"I hope you feel better, Ishida," Kurosaki says from the doorway of his bedroom. "Have a nice long nap and I'll see you later."

"Wait," he weakly tries but Kurosaki is already gone by the sound of the front door closing.

* * *

The next six hours are spent brooding. Rukia comes home to find him curled up on the couch not-watching _Supernatural_ on Netflix. His gaze is stuck somewhere between the TV and the kitchen behind it for minutes on end before she eventually speaks.

"Bad day?"

"Kurosaki hugged me."

"Oh…" Rukia tries, clearly surprised, though she recovers quickly. "Okay. Well, that's not too bad, is it? Unless it was a 'let's just be friends' kind of hug."

"I don't even know."

"Ugh, Ichigo…" she sighs, shaking her head at Kurosaki's antics. Sitting next to him, she sets a hand on his knee and gives him a sympathetic look. "Uryuu, I have something to tell you. But first promise you won't get mad."

"No."

"Fine, but at least know that it was for your own good, you stubborn man!" Rukia cries. Guilt is rolling off her in waves, having seen Uryuu like this and knowing it's apparently partly her fault. Her lip trembles. He glares until she blurts, "I've been helping Ichigo seduce you!" His jaw drops. It's such a shock that he doesn't even think to ask for clarification. Luckily, she realizes this. "I knew that if he just asked you out like a normal human being, you'd shoot him down or laugh it off. You've never been good about opening up or letting yourself be vulnerable to anyone. So we had to be clever about it."

"You tried to _manipulate _me into sleeping with _Kurosaki_!?"

"When you say it like that it sounds so horrible," she laments, turning her gaze towards the floor. "But it wasn't just about that, Uryuu. Ichigo is such a great guy and I think you two would be really good together—Uryuu, wait! Where are you going?"

He doesn't bother responding. Rukia's phone is sitting on the table and he snatches it up, turns it off and hides it in the hall closet so she can't warn Kurosaki. He's so angry he doesn't even bother grabbing his jacket on his way out. Uryuu stomps down the street and around the corner to Kurosaki's apartment building. He hasn't actually spent a lot of time there, but he still remembers exactly where it is.

The idea that Kurosaki has been trying to seduce him this whole time is difficult to accept, to say the least. For one, you don't argue that much with someone whose pants you want to get into. Although it does sort of make sense, in retrospect. The times when Kurosaki would come over and help clean, give him these weird little smiles, or touch him unnecessarily. Always stopping by the apartment, showing up at the gym, and dropping in at the library to spend time with him.

Still, the question remains: why try so hard to be subtle about it?

Unless Rukia is right and Uryuu would never have given Kurosaki a chance in hell if he asked outright. There could be some truth to that. He's has had a hard life and consequently lost a lot of his faith in people; the ability to trust others becomes more difficult each time someone else hurts him. How could he know Kurosaki would be an exception to the overwhelming majority? Especially when he first got to know the raucous punk, without all the tolerable qualities he deigned to show later like loyalty and consideration and creativity.

But the way they went about this is just insulting. Uryuu isn't some stray cat to be tricked and retrained!

Uryuu pounds on the door. He doesn't hesitate to start glaring as soon as Kurosaki opens it. Wordlessly, he steps aside to allow Uryuu in and locks the door behind them. Turning to face him, Kurosaki puts his hands into his pockets and adopts a neutral expression. Uryuu's eyes quickly sweep over his body, clothed in low-slung grey jeans complete with thick belt and heavy chain, a maroon tank top and a wrinkled white button-up slipping off one muscular shoulder. He wonders if Kurosaki was just about to go out for the night. The fact that he looks and smells edible only pisses Uryuu off further. He feels the familiar rise of lust in his gut and grits his teeth against it.

"What do you want from me, Kurosaki?"

"I'm not the one who just showed up at your door, Ishida," he says with raised brows. "What do _you_ want?"

"I WANT—" Uryuu yells, temper getting the better of him, before cutting himself off. His eyes leave an expectant face and fall to the thin slice of Kurosaki's stomach bared by the raised hem of his tight shirt. He can see the telltale indentations, the twin beginnings of a deep V leading downwards. "I want…"

He can't tear his eyes away. Until Kurosaki takes a step closer and Uryuu has to look up to see why he does. Face infuriatingly blank, Kurosaki's gaze switches from one blue iris to the other as he lowers his voice and repeats, "What do you want, Ishida?"

It takes another step forward before Uryuu can answer. "I w-want you to…"

"Want me to…" Kurosaki mimics, drawing out the last vowel encouragingly.

He reaches a hand out beside Uryuu's shoulder to prop against the wall and that's when he realizes Kurosaki has backed him up against it. Their bodies are inches apart, slanted towards each other and exchanging heat through their clothes. Uryuu's breaths come faster and he feels a flush rising to his cheeks. It almost seems as if Kurosaki is subtly seducing him even now, like Rukia said, but he's still not doing anything inappropriate. Suddenly Uryuu is willing him to be anything but _friendly_ with him. It's maddening how much he wants the man.

"Kurosaki," he agitatedly breathes, at a loss for words.

"Just tell me what you want, Ishida."

The other hand comes up and Uryuu is bracketed by strong arms. Just like Uryuu dancing in front of him at the bar last night, he recalls in a flash of memory. Uryuu doesn't feel trapped, doesn't feel anxious, but his hands have started to faintly tremble like dragonfly wings. Kurosaki tilts his head to the side and slats his eyelids half-closed as he slips a quick tongue out to moisten his lips. Uryuu catches a glimpse of silver and shivers at the sight, but he still can't bring himself to say it. He's too caught up wondering why Kurosaki doesn't just take him if he wants to, like he does with everything else. Why the game? Why force Uryuu to vocalize it?

This was such a bad idea. If Kurosaki had interest in him beyond casual friendship, he would have just said so by now. All these weeks of them spending so much time together…he had so many opportunities. Kurosaki isn't the type to keep his desires to himself, after all. It's probably all in Uryuu's head. All the accidental touches, the unusual closeness, the favors. Maybe Kurosaki gets his rocks off by toying with people and Uryuu's just his latest victim. Rukia has to be pulling his leg.

There's one sure way to find out.

"I want you to kiss me," he blurts before he can change his mind and flee. If nothing else, he can still say it's a joke. Before the last word is out, Kurosaki's lips are pressing to his, warm and wet with gentle pressure. That snippet of muddled memory from last night comes back, teasing with its ephemerality. But it doesn't last; a handful of glorious seconds and Kurosaki is pulling back with that same blank expression. Uryuu's brows scrunch in confusion. "Wha—"

"You wanted a kiss? I kissed you," Kurosaki murmurs into the small space between them. "What else do you want?"

Annoyed, Uryuu frowns and doesn't bother filtering the words that pour into his mind. He's thinking maybe Kurosaki already thinks this is a joke and he only kissed Uryuu to mess with him. This morning's hug could've been a joke, too. The idea that Uryuu's misery is Kurosaki's amusement destroys his hesitation. If Kurosaki wants to play this game, he's damn sure going to do it Uryuu's way.

"I don't just want a chaste meeting of lips, Kurosaki. I want feverish and rough, your tongue in my mouth, lack-of-oxygen _making out_!"

Again, he doesn't quite get to finish his sentence before Kurosaki is energetically fulfilling his request. He pushes hands into Uryuu's hair to hold him still as he leans in and does just as he was asked. It is feverish and rough and it takes less than thirty seconds for Uryuu to start panting around it. Kurosaki's tongue is in his mouth. That's a novel enough sensation on its own, but with the addition of his stud, it's positively electrifying. His hands itch to grab onto the man but he doesn't understand the rules of this weird game, doesn't want to overstep and make this end yet.

Minutes later, Uryuu has to end it anyway. He breaks away to fight Kurosaki for the limited air between them. Kurosaki's hands return to his pockets before he meets his eyes with a slightly less impassive look. It's hard to come off as cool and collected when you're winded and flushed with arousal.

"Is that all you wanted from me?" comes the inevitable provocation.

"No. But I doubt you want to hear the rest."

Now Kurosaki gives up on the façade entirely. He lifts his head and leers. "Try me."

"I want you to take off your shirt—" Uryuu's eyes widen as he instantly follows the command, shrugging off his button-up and dropping it to the floor beside them. "Both of them."

The tank goes over his head and Uryuu has to take a moment to stare at the array of magnificent muscle definition. Shoulders, chest, and abs. All perfect, especially with the light scattering of thin scars. Uryuu wants to touch almost as much as he wants to keep playing this game. He is already _so hard_ and he glances down to confirm that Kurosaki is, too. That they're both enjoying this in the same way. They are. Damned if Rukia wasn't telling the truth after all. Of course, he wants to tell him to take off his pants but he doesn't want to push too fast. He's not sure where he should go next.

Kurosaki is uncharacteristically patient. He watches Uryuu with that little smirk. "And?"

"Take off my vest and shirt," Uryuu murmurs. Nimble fingertips attack the buttons of his vest and push it off his shoulders, his dress shirt following. "Kiss my neck."

The admissions become harder to say aloud. What he really wants is for Kurosaki to _take_, to make Uryuu feel alive in a way he never has before. Telling him to do things is embarrassing. Maybe that's why Kurosaki wants to do it this way. That might also explain why he and Rukia had to go to such elaborate measures to get them to this point because this is so far outside his comfort zone. Uryuu musters the courage to continue as Kurosaki kisses a slow line up his throat. One side, then the other.

A steady stream of commands leaves his lips. Kurosaki touches his chest, nibbles his ears and licks, the round metal of his tongue stud massaging against his skin contrasting nicely with the blunt pressure of his teeth. Hands grip his hips and grind their erections together through their pants. Uryuu ignores the spreading wet spot on his slacks in favor of holding back his moans, as Kurosaki is doing. The quick susurration of their breath and the slick glide of Kurosaki's tongue are the only sounds in the quiet apartment. Until Uryuu heatedly asks to hear him, not expecting compliance. He is pleased to receive it, though, and the low vibrations of Kurosaki's moans inspire his own into existence. Another few degrees of inhibitions are lost.

Once they get to sloppily making out and frantically grinding against each other, Uryuu hits a road block. He can reach orgasm like this, but he has always hated the idea of coming in his pants like an inexperienced teenager. Plus, he wants Kurosaki's hands—his hot _mouth_—on his cock right now more than he wants to have another birthday. He wants to see Kurosaki hard and leaking for him in a way that he can't deny with words or an evasive frown later. But he can't bring himself to say these things. Uryuu is barely capable of cursing aloud most of the time, much less spouting verbal pornography as they act it out.

He has only one trump card left and he has no idea how it will be interpreted. Hesitantly, he plays it. Pulling away to get his attention, Uryuu looks into Kurosaki's lust-clouded eyes and somehow manages to say, "I want you to…do what you want, Kurosaki. Just do whatever you want."

"Are you sure?"

Uryuu nods slowly and the smile that curls across Kurosaki's face is genuine. It is an admission of trust as much as desire. Need and compliance. Somehow, he feels like he's won the game.

Or fallen right into a trap.

Kurosaki grabs his arm and drags him towards the bedroom. Once there, he practically rips Uryuu's pants open and shoves them down along with his boxer-briefs. The sudden assault is shocking enough to rekindle apprehension. Seeming to sense this, Kurosaki is quick to shed the rest of his own clothing, too, falling to the floor with a heavy metallic clink as the belt and chains hit. Uryuu's attention immediately transfers to the proud length of him, jutting up towards his belly button.

"You're pretty well-equipped for being so damn skinny," Kurosaki sincerely quips, apparently making similar observations.

Then he's kissing Uryuu firmly, canine snagging his bottom lip, and pushes him down to lie on the unmade bed. On hands and knees above him, Kurosaki mouths along his clavicle while his fingers close around Uryuu. The cool rings he wears provide an interesting contrast to the hot flesh they graze.

"Ah-_aahn_!" he moans as his head falls back, eyes shutting from the intensity of pleasure he's experiencing. Uryuu's hands fist into the sheets as his abs tense; he's already so close. "Kurosaki, I'm…"

The wet mouth closing around the head of his cock would be more than enough to send him straight into ecstasy if not for the thick cord abruptly tightening around it. He opens his mouth to protest but he doesn't make it past the first consonant: Kurosaki is sucking hard and that little metal bar is drawing a thrilling design along the jumping vein in his shaft. It's the most erotic thing he's ever felt.

Then Kurosaki starts _humming_ and Uryuu loses his fucking mind.

"Ah, gods, Kurosaki," he rambles, only half-conscious of what he's even saying. His hips buck as his spine arches and Kurosaki just takes it, swallowing more of him down until his lips are cinched right around the base. The wordless shout that rips out of Uryuu is half-plaintive, half-disbelieving. "Fucking _hell_, Kurosaki, I can't—I need—!"

One of his hands leaves the abused bedding to grasp the soft orange locks tickling around his hips when Kurosaki dips to meet his shallow thrusts. The pressure in his groin is building to an insistence that threatens to become painful if prolonged. Uryuu's breathless fragments are ignored for several long minutes more, until he's sure he's going to have a heart-attack before Kurosaki decides to stop torturing him.

Right before the pressure starts to change his mind, Kurosaki pulls off and shows him the most salacious expression. Uryuu's breath stutters as he takes in the deep red lips, flushed chest, and straining erection proving Kurosaki is just as desperate for release as he is. In that case, why the delay? Is he getting back at Uryuu for waiting this long to confront him? He starts to sit up so he can ask, but Kurosaki spears him with a fierce stare that halts him.

"Tell me what you want, Ishida," he practically purrs, running light fingertips up his sides before carefully settling his full weight atop him. Uryuu groans at the feeling of their cocks slipping against each other. "I need to hear you say it."

"Kurosaki!" The man's hips are shifting a slow circle to hold Uryuu's interest. He grits his teeth and glares at him for being so difficult. "You know what I want, damn it!"

"Do I? You want what I want, right?" Kurosaki rubs at a nipple and murmurs against the shell of Uryuu's heated ear. "I want to suck your dick until you go cross-eyed, Ishida. I want to make you beg until you forget the words. I want to watch you come so hard your brain melts out of your ears. Is that what you want?"

"Oh, _fuck_," he moans because this is so far from okay. Uryuu didn't march over here so he could be blackmailed into begging like a bad porn star. He also didn't come here to be blue-balled to death in Kurosaki's bed. One of these is going to happen, and he'll be damned if he's not getting _something_ out of this absurdity. So he shuts out the pride and the indignity long enough to snap, "I want you to let me come, now!"

"As you wish."

With a final nip to his lobe, Kurosaki descends again, not hesitating to swallow him right back down in one fluid motion. He pushes one of Uryuu's legs up for better access and watches him as he sucks stronger than a damned vacuum. A strangled moan twists from Uryuu's throat and he reaches up to the headboard to cling to the metal bars. Somehow the short break managed to increase the sensation tenfold. It is all he can do not to whimper like an idiot when he finally—_finally_—feels fingers reaching for that cursed cord and pulling at the knot.

Uryuu catches one last glimpse down to see Kurosaki bracing against the bed with one hand and enthusiastically stroking himself with the other. His eyes lock with Uryuu's and then everything explodes. It is hot-cold, sharp-soft, blindingly bright and so good he can't breathe. Uryuu's brain must really be melting because his only sensory perception is the most intense pleasure, better than anything he could imagine.

There's no way to know how long he floats in that zone, but when he begins to surface, sound is the first to register. His own gasping is loud and labored in his ears but Kurosaki's is just as rasping. The man is collapsed atop him with his head turned sideways over his working stomach. There is no sign of Uryuu's release but Kurosaki's stains his sheet between their parted knees. His body is buzzing all over, flushed and sweaty. Uryuu's glasses are skewed but his eyes refuse to focus so he doesn't bother fixing them. He would probably be too weak to lift his hand anyway.

The afterglow begins to wane as his pulse normalizes. Uryuu has never had such an intense orgasm and he can't help wondering if death-by-ejaculation is possible after all. When Kurosaki moves, it is only to flop to the side and higher, beside Uryuu. He meets Uryuu's placid gaze and smiles wearily.

"That was fucking awesome."

"You are utterly insane," Uryuu mutters, eliciting a breathy chuckle from Kurosaki. "What kind of crazy bastard takes delayed gratification so far?"

"The kind of crazy bastard who's had the hots for your nerdy ass since I caught you checking me out in the library the day we met." Uryuu scoffs but doesn't deny it. It is probably all the confirmation of this 'team seduction' business he's going to get. "The kind who wanted to make sex with me so amazing that you couldn't even think of declining a second round."

"Your arrogance is the only amazing thing here, Kurosaki."

A handful of minutes pass before he can drag himself from the bed and begin the Herculean task of pulling on his clothes. Kurosaki props himself up on an elbow and watches.

"Really?" He gets up to follow Uryuu out of his room and down the hall to retrieve his shirts. "Is that why you yelled my name when I made you come so hard you almost blacked out?"

"I didn't yell your—"

Uryuu's denial is cut off by the confident assurance in Kurosaki's raised eyebrows. The smirk widens into a grin when Uryuu shakes his head and sighs. There's a small chance Uryuu might have done it and not even noticed but he isn't about to admit to anything. He pointedly does not ogle Kurosaki's still-naked form as he pulls the door open and turns to leave. Kurosaki's smug voice follows him down the stairs.

"See you tomorrow, Ishida!"

* * *

AN: Ah, progress at last! Uryuu is a drama queen, Ichigo is unusually patient, and Rukia doesn't hold up well under pressure. This chapter was really fun to write for several reasons! And yes, I know "ephemerality" is not a word, but it really should be. Why is that not a word? Well, it is now.

Also, did anybody catch the Princess Bride reference? I couldn't resist!


	7. Chapter 7

AN: If you thought it was over just because they finally hooked up, there are still four more chapters to go...so buckle up!

* * *

"…saki? Kurosaki!"

"Eh? What?"

Blinking back the haze of a deep daydream, Ichigo glances around the room as the sound of his name being angrily called finally registers. The rest of the students in the large classroom are all staring at him. Some sneer with open disdain but most grin and giggle quietly. His physiology professor is glaring in Ichigo's direction, though even his best shot is a far cry from the power of Ishida's when he really gets pissed.

Trying to recall the question that must have just been asked of him is instantly shoved aside as this comparison takes him right back to the subject of his chronic daydreams. Even the classes he doesn't share with Ishida aren't safe now. Not after what they finally did in Ichigo's apartment yesterday. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about it, despite winding up in an awkward physical state during this morning's vertebrate morphology lecture. He's pretty sure the woman sitting beside him had noticed, too. Ishida himself—sitting across the room as usual because the one time they tried sitting together they got kicked out of class for talking the whole time—hadn't noticed a thing.

Ichigo's eyes refocus in time to see his professor step in front of his desk.

"Am I boring you, Kurosaki!?" the man practically screams at him from two feet away. "Or have you finally decided to fit the stereotype you portray and become a menace to society?"

"'Menace to society?' Who talks like that anymore?" he grumbles before he can stop himself. His teacher's eyes widen and a vein bulges on his forehead; Ichigo quickly stands with a screech of chair and apologizes properly. The last thing he needs is to be kicked out of such an important class permanently. "I'm so sorry! I didn't get much sleep last night and I've…been under a lot of stress lately. It won't happen again!"

The professor narrows his eyes at Ichigo, who shows his best contrite expression, and eventually releases a heavy sigh. It's true, in a sense. Ichigo can't remember the last time he was this drawn to a person, this mystified and agitated and bewitched. Actually, he's pretty sure it's never happened before. And it isn't just the phenomenal sex. It's everything about Ishida right down to his short temper and razor wit. It's the way he pesters Ichigo to study more because Ishida is secretly concerned about his grades. How he'll show up to study with an extra latte for Ichigo and claim it was two-for-one at the coffee shop. That time he lost his jacket and Ishida lent him a spare, blushing while warning him to keep it clean after Ichigo thanked him.

Finally bridging the gap between them to reach an understanding, of sorts, has Ichigo more excited than he probably should be. Those few moments of quiet before Ishida got out of his bed and grabbed his clothes seemed to last a sweet eternity to Ichigo. The two of them simply breathing and reveling in their connection. It took everything he had not to tackle Ishida and beg him to stay for fear of losing that poignant feeling.

"Just make sure you pay attention, Kurosaki. I'm keeping my eye on you."

"Yeah," he somberly acknowledges.

Yet, as soon as the lecture ends and students begin filing out, Ichigo is right back inside his head.

It's so bad that even lunch with Chad is half-spent shaking himself out of this daze. The naturally reticent man is used to being the one listening as Ichigo chats about any and everything that pops into his head, which is why he grows concerned to see his best friend so lost in thought. He doesn't get a chance to mention it before their other classmate shows up a little late.

"Hey, you dorks," Renji cheerfully hails as he spots them at a corner booth in the crowded restaurant. His low, rough voice easily carries over the various chatter filling the large room. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Chad answers. It's never been truer. "We ordered."

"Well, aren't you the spirited pair? Why does Ichigo look like he's auditioning as an extra for the Walking Dead?"

"He's been like that all afternoon."

"Snap out of it, dumbass!"

"Huh?"

"Don't you 'huh' me, Ichigo. Get with it before I jump across this table and smack the drool off your slack-jawed face!" A glimmer of life returns to his eyes as Ichigo scowls at the threat. His loud, aggressive friend is drawing the attention of everyone in a three-meter radius around them. He hisses at Renji to shut up and gets a rude finger flicked in his direction. "What's yer problem, anyway? Forget your brain at home again?"

"Is it about Ishida-kun?"

Ichigo jolts at the name and swivels to stare at Chad with laser-focus. He doesn't get a chance to gesture for him to shut up: Renji is unusually quick on the uptake today.

"'Ishida'? Who's that?"

"No one. Just a classmate. Ignore Chad."

"Just a classmate who has you blushing like a cute little virgin at the mention of her name, eh?" leers Renji. "Tell me all about her."

"Him."

"Chad!" Again, the damage is already done. Renji's eyes light up like it's Christmas and he's been a good boy all year. "And fuck you, I am not blushing."

"You are."

"Whose side are you on, Chad!?"

"A'right, spill! What's his major? What's he look like?" he begins to fire off questions in spite of Ichigo's ire. "Tall? Buff? Nah, you'd be into the girly types, wouldn't ya? Haha, bet he has pretty eyes!"

"He's not girly!"

"But he does have pretty eyes," Chad thoughtfully contributes, triggering a back-and-forth with Renji. "And stylish hair."

"Oh so shiny and black?"

"Almost blue."

"Nice body?"

"Tall and slim."

"Ooh, tell me you got a picture!"

"Sorry."

"Shut the hell up, you two! Quit talking about Ishida like he's some…some _piece of ass_." Their baffled expressions do nothing to ease Ichigo's discomfort. He knows he's blushing again and he resolutely ignores it. "Stay out of other people's business, why don't ya?"

"Ichigo…"

"What?" he snaps at Chad, then glares at Renji for staring at him. "_What_?"

"You really like this kid, huh? Imagine that! Our lil' Ichigo is falling in luuurve." Renji is the only one chuckling at his own joke. Chad is gazing solemnly into the distance and Ichigo is too busy trying to get his racing pulse under control to even pretend the jibe didn't hit a nerve. Renji gasps and Ichigo cringes. "No way! Really?"

"Uh," he grunts, "Maybe."

"I didn't know you were dating," says Chad while Renji gapes at him. "Is it serious?"

"Well, we're not exactly…'dating' per se. Yet."

"How does that work?" Renji rejoins the conversation with a petulant question. "You're just friends?"

"Um…sort of?"

"What the hell!?"

"Look, I don't really get it myself," Ichigo grumbles and shifts sideways in his seat to face away from them. "It's not that simple, okay? Ishida is kind of a weirdo and that's part of what I like about him. But it makes things complicated."

"But, Ichigo," murmurs Chad so that he and Renji have to listen closely to hear him, "Does he know how you feel about him?"

Flicking imaginary crumbs from his jeans and keeping his eyes on his lap, Ichigo shrugs, then shakes his head. He hears Renji take a deep breath to begin a long bout of equal-parts chastisement and brotherly advice.

* * *

He doesn't love Kurosaki. Hell, Uryuu doesn't even _like_ the guy. What kind of brash, impulsive loudmouth could have the merits necessary to garner his affection? Not Kurosaki! No, this is just about sex. Unbelievable, addictive, transcendent sex, sure. But it's just sex and that's all it ever was. There will be no dating. No spending quality time together and talking about each other's dreams. No ideas for the future or considerate questions about their week. Uryuu doesn't need to get caught up in the distractions of some big emotional mess while he's already struggling so hard to make it through an undergrad degree in one piece. He barely has time for the few friends in his life as it is.

That is exactly what Uryuu will spell out tonight when he goes back to Kurosaki's place. If this is going to happen, there can be no emotions in it at all. It must be a purely physical exchange.

Admirably, his resolve to talk _first_ doesn't waver when he sees Kurosaki, already shirtless with a pair of loose black pajama bottoms over bare feet. He scowls at the scheming punk and strides over to sit on the couch while Kurosaki shuts his door. There is a wine bottle and two glasses sitting on the coffee table before him. Uryuu shoots him an accusatory look as Kurosaki sits beside him.

"Planning to get me drunk so we don't have to have this conversation?"

"What conversation?" he innocently asks, pouring red wine into the glasses.

"I do not like you."

Kurosaki looks up from his task long enough to give a half-shrug. "Okay."

"I mean it, Kurosaki. This isn't a 'crush'. I don't want to date you."

"So, no flowers, no restaurants, and no PDA. Got it." Finishing the second glass, he hands one to Uryuu and sits back with his own. "Anything else?"

"I'd appreciate it if you could take me seriously," he snarls, setting the glass down with a dangerously resonant _clunk_. "Or maybe I should just leave."

"I am taking you seriously, Ishida," Kurosaki snipes back, letting some agitation show. "So you're not a fan of the 'L-word'. As long as you're willing to get naked with me, I'm not going to complain."

Uryuu considers this. He watches the way Kurosaki sips his wine, the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat when he swallows. The memory evokes a warning tingle from his dormant groin. After a moment's reflection, he snatches up his wine and downs the glass in one go.

"Fine," he says once he finishes it. "So long as we're clear."

Kurosaki nods once and pours more wine for him. "Crystal."

With that out of the way, Uryuu's gaze returns to Kurosaki's chest, drinking in the view as he drinks more alcohol. Kurosaki is not paying attention. His gaze is distant, unfocused in the general direction of his window. The way he frowns is making Uryuu uncomfortable. Almost as if the topic is unpleasant in more than just the superficial way. Almost as if…Suddenly Rukia's willingness to help con Uryuu makes so much sense.

"You don't—Kurosaki, do you like me?"

His response is slow. Face scrunching in incredulity, Kurosaki slants his eyes to the side long enough to meet Uryuu's for an instant before looking away again.

"Of course not." The words sound firm but his body language is sketchy. Uryuu stares a hole into his head until Kurosaki finally turns toward him. "What?"

"Liar."

"Fuck you. Don't be such a narcissist."

"I'm not," Uryuu states, rage rising fast. "Truth, Kurosaki. Do you fucking _like_ me?"

He doesn't answer this time. He stares at his glass. Uryuu sets his down and stands.

"Wait!"

Kurosaki's arms lock around Uryuu's waist and drag him down to his lap.

"Let me go," he growls, pulling at the strong arms holding him.

"Who cares how I feel, one way or another?" Kurosaki rants, keeping the squirming man in place without trouble. "What does it matter? It's not like I'm going to pine after you and beg you to go out with me! If all you want is sex, that's all we'll do. I don't need you to like me for that. Shit, Ishida, stop wriggling, would you?"

At the strained tone of his voice on the last sentence, Uryuu freezes. Now that he's not focused on escaping, he can clearly feel what his attempts have done to Kurosaki. He twists around to look at him, flushed and already breathing heavily. Uryuu raises a brow when their eyes meet and Kurosaki's dick twitches against his ass.

"You're unbelievable," he sighs, feeling his body start to respond.

"What do you expect? How can I not get hard with a gorgeous man in my lap?"

Uryuu wants to be mad, but Kurosaki is kissing the side of his neck, grazing his teeth over the spot connecting his shoulder, and sucking lightly over the sting. His hands push under Uryuu's shirt to smooth over his flat belly. Thumbs tickle over his sides as Kurosaki tongues an earlobe. The warm steel of his piercing massages the over-sensitized skin. Uryuu finds himself relaxing into the attention like a conditioned pet.

"What do you think you're doing?" he half-heartedly gripes. "Distracting me isn't going to make me forget your confession."

"No, but it might prove it doesn't matter." Kurosaki's voice has already taken on that low, gravelly tone Uryuu has begun to associate with sex. Hands slide down to grip his thighs, spreading them apart for easier access. "I just want to make you feel good."

The head of his erection is pressing uncomfortably against his zip and Uryuu resents the fact that Kurosaki can do this to him so easily. A few kisses, a couple of touches and he's aching for it. Even Kurosaki's lame one-liners go unpunished in lieu of stifling a pleasured gasp. In retribution, he leans against Kurosaki's bare chest and rolls his hips, pushing back firmly. The strangled groan he gets for his efforts brings a vindictive smile to his face. He does it again.

The fingers that go for his zip are just a bit shaky. He lets Kurosaki pull out his cock and close a tight fist around it. Uryuu doesn't complain when he takes the opposite ear between his lips as he pumps nice and slow. The wine is going straight to his head, thanks to an empty stomach, and Uryuu finds he doesn't care enough to hold back his moans. He is so relaxed that when Kurosaki brings his free hand up to tilt his chin to the side, Uryuu takes the cue and kisses him.

Their mouths slide leisurely, tongues caressing rather than attacking this time. Uryuu's hips roll up into the warm hand and down against Kurosaki's erection. He can feel it clearly through the thin fabric of Kurosaki's pants. Uryuu is pretty sure he's not even wearing underwear. The serpentine slither of Uryuu's spine—a natural flexibility promoted by years of yoga and martial arts—is obviously impressing Kurosaki, if his emphatic moans are anything to go by.

Steadily, that sweet tension builds and Uryuu wonders if Kurosaki will try to hold it off again. He doesn't want to be at this idiot's mercy right now, or ever, but he knows delaying will only make the result stronger. His body shivers at the mere memory of last night's orgasm. Just being around Kurosaki sets his blood burning because of it. He feels a little like a drug addict anticipating a fix but he's not about to deny himself this.

Kurosaki's low sounds vibrate through his chest, coiling hot and thick in his gut. Uryuu breaks the kiss when he becomes light-headed with the need for air. The pace Kurosaki set speeds up, and Uryuu matches it with his hips. To get back at him for insisting Uryuu verbally demand his orgasm last time, he vindictively wants to make Kurosaki come with nothing more than the friction of his ass pressing down. Fingers pinch his nipple, as if Kurosaki read his mind, and he gasps at the jolt it causes.

"You really like me, don't you?" Uryuu huffs between gasps. "The way you moan for me, your greedy lips sucking at my neck."

"Shuddap," he slurs back, squeezing tighter to make Uryuu buck against him.

"You can't deny it. I can feel how hard you are, Kurosaki." Turning his name into a hiss when his neck is bitten and licked in retaliation, Uryuu grins. "Bet you can't wait to fuck me."

"_Uuhn_," Kurosaki groans, hips stuttering up against him as his pace increases again. "_Fuck_ yeah, Ishida."

The way his voice has gone hoarse, breath hot and loud beside his ear, makes Ishida thrum with lust. He is doing this to Kurosaki; breaking him down into a simmering puddle of hormones and want. Now he understands why he forced Uryuu to say what he wanted Kurosaki to do to him yesterday: that unmistakable confirmation of desire is such a turn-on!

His orgasm hits him like a furtive ninja: unexpected and brutal. He is careful not to shout Kurosaki's name this time, but it is a close thing. Uryuu's name, however, clearly tumbles from Kurosaki's reddened lips as he grabs Uryuu's hips and grinds against him one last time.

Once he regains his breath and his senses, Uryuu glances down at his lap and deadpans, "What a fucking mess."

"Feel free to use the shower," Kurosaki eagerly offers, missing the pun.

"Why, so you can sneak in and catch me off-guard?"

"No, so I can lock you in and never let you leave."

Uryuu scoffs as he gathers the will to tuck himself away and stand. Luckily, it missed his shirt completely. His jeans could be dealt with later; it's dark outside, after all. He goes to the kitchen sink—closer than the bathroom—and washes his hands. Kurosaki is still sitting on the couch when he returns. He leans over the back and waits for him to look up, their faces mere inches apart. The fact that he really wants to lean in for an upside-down kiss only strengthens his resolve to say what he does next.

"I'm going to pretend you don't have feelings for me beyond basic lust—"

"I wouldn't call it 'basic', Ishida, you've been the sole star of my fantasies for _months_."

"And hope that you'll keep my stipulations in mind," he continues as if uninterrupted. "If you want to continue this."

"You were right, y'know."

That stops his train of thought. "About what?"

Kurosaki regards him seriously for a handful of tense seconds before breaking into a lecherous smirk. "I really can't wait to fuck you."

Uryuu straightens and rolls his eyes at this idiocy. He walks to the door and opens it, but pauses before walking out. "Who says you'll be the one doing the fucking?"

* * *

AN: What is with me always wanting to write Renji as a relationship guru? I think there must be a lot of wisdom underneath all that goofy recklessness. Waaay down deep.


	8. Chapter 8

The next time they meet, it isn't to have sex. Uryuu is as surprised as anyone, seeing as they had a streak going and everything, but Kurosaki declares they can't continue without establishing one important thing. So they simply have dinner in Kurosaki's apartment instead. Uryuu brings dessert and ends up helping prepare the meal when Kurosaki starts to do it inefficiently, making more of a mess than actual food.

"I don't want you fucking anyone else," he earnestly states, handing Uryuu a pair of chopsticks as they sit down to eat. "Girl _or _guy."

"What, worried I'll get bored of you so soon?"

The retort gets him a glare as Kurosaki begins shoveling his rice down. Uryuu raises an eyebrow and takes a dainty bite of fish. The idea had been that they should talk about where their weird relationship is headed before they jump into something insane. Actually, it was Rukia's idea when she spotted a bit of telling evidence on Uryuu's pants that night. Of course she'd figured the whole thing out instantly, like some kind of Japanese Sherlock, and texted Kurosaki even as she was griping at Uryuu about it. That woman really needs to learn to butt out.

"I mean it, Ishida. I don't want to share you."

"Your concerns are unfounded," Uryuu tells him, thinking of the fact that Kurosaki is his first everything anyway and it's unlikely that he'll suddenly get a second offer so soon after the first. If he can go more than twenty years without so much as kissing another human being, the chances are good it'll be a while before he finds someone else crazy enough to want to touch him. Not that he's about to tell Kurosaki any of that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not going to be 'fucking anyone else' so you don't need to worry."

"You swear?" Kurosaki squints his eyes and stares hard, as if trying to see across a great distance. Maybe to an ideal future where Uryuu answers him plainly without braiding subtle insinuations into every conversation.

"What are we, eight years old?" he taunts, scoffing around a sip of tea. "Should we cross pinkies, Kurosaki? Cut our palms and mingle bloodlines?"

Kurosaki rolls his eyes and resumes scarfing down his food. He knows Uryuu well enough by now to see he's not going to get a firm answer from him on this subject. It's not that he plans to sleep around; he just doesn't like giving his word for trivial things like fidelity when he and Kurosaki aren't even dating. If they were to draw up a contract, however, where one of the stipulations includes keeping emotions out of the situation, then he might consider it.

"I just don't want to deal with any competition."

"What competition?" he blurts before he can stop himself. Kurosaki's eyes widen and Uryuu pointedly ignores it. "It's not like I've got men flocking to my bedroom, you know."

"Only because they're terrified of your brain."

"Right," Uryuu snarks. "Whatever. My point is—"

"You've got to know how gorgeous you are," Kurosaki interrupts, setting his chopsticks down to gesture with his hands. "Everything about you is perfect from the rare blue of your eyes to the shine of your hair to the height and build of your body. There's no way no one's told you how hot you are."

"You may have—"

"Aside from me."

"Not really." Uryuu shifts uncomfortably and feels heat suffusing his face. He mentally curses his own stupidity. What difference does it make if Kurosaki finds him attractive? He would have to, after all, to want to mess around with him in the first place. "That sort of thing has never been high on my list of considerations."

"Meaning every man or woman who has approached you has been shot down before they could get a complimentary word in, right?" Uryuu frowns and continues eating as if he didn't hear. This doesn't deter Kurosaki in the slightest. "Because you can't let anyone into your life unless they force themselves in, like I have. Like Rukia did."

"What do you want from me, Kurosaki? I already said I won't sleep with anyone else."

"Why does it bother you so much that I like you?"

With a forceful shove, Uryuu gets up from the table and marches over to the door. Kurosaki's hand clamps around his arm before he can reach for the handle. He turns, opening his mouth to make demands, but Kurosaki turns the motion into a kiss before he can react. Residual anger translates into Uryuu dominating the invading tongue, nipping slick lips, and digging nails into bare forearms. But he doesn't pull away. Uryuu lets himself be kissed because he likes the way it makes him feel: powerful in a way he never does.

"You don't like me," he snaps when they break for air. "You like the idea of me. You like conquering me."

Kurosaki's jaw falls open a bit and he shakes his head, as if Uryuu just accused him of molesting children. "That's not it at all! I know I'm just a loser, a brainless punk to you, Ishida, but it's not like that. I've only slept with one other person before and I'd known her for yea—"

"_Her_."

"I never said I was exclusively gay and it doesn't matter," he snaps, frowning. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't just fuck every hot piece of ass I come across."

"You're seriously claiming the 'sensitive bisexual punk' label?" Uryuu can't help asking. He sees Kurosaki take offense at that and almost laughs. "You're a chronic loudmouth, a rude brat, and a selfish ass. Are you really claiming you only have sex when you have _feelings _for someone?"

"The fact that you don't believe me only emphasizes how delusional you are."

"Delusional!?"

"You see people how you want to see them. Even with regards to how they see _you_, Ishida." Voice raised, Kurosaki's brows dive in anger as he crowds into Uryuu's space. "Saying no one's ever hit on you is either an outright lie, or you never accepted it for what it really was when it was happening. You see what you want to see, not what's really there. Otherwise, you would've noticed my feelings for you _weeks_ ago instead of when Rukia confessed our plan. Which I totally see the need for now, by the way."

Again, Uryuu turns to reach for the doorknob, and again Kurosaki stops him. This time he pushes Uryuu against the door hard enough to momentarily knock the air from his lungs, holding him there by the shoulders. He sucks in a breath to hiss a sharp warning, "_Kurosaki_…"

"I get that you don't want to show emotion," he continues as if he didn't just practically assault Uryuu. "You're logical and analytical and you perform best when you take emotion out of the equation. Hell, I've met your father—I _get it_, Ishida. I don't need you to love me, but I can't deal with you thinking I'm just in it for an easy lay. You mean more to me than that."

The way his brown eyes bore into Uryuu like this moment is everything—like he can't live without getting through to him on this—has him hesitating when he would otherwise cut him down faster than a lumberjack in front of a redwood. His instinct is to shut him out, end this madness before it goes any further. His hands want to clench and throw a few punches for good measure. But Kurosaki's words resonate irritatingly close to truth. Uryuu grits his teeth and looks away from that clear gaze. Seems like he's going against his gut on this one.

Because maybe Uryuu doesn't want just sex from Kurosaki after all.

"Fine."

"Fine? What does that mean?"

"It means," Uryuu sighs, reluctantly meeting his eyes, "That I understand. For whatever reason, you've developed an unlikely attachment to me and you've decided you would like to pursue a romantic relationship. So, I'm saying…fine."

"Fine like you'd be okay with having a relationship with me?"

He almost winces at the hopeful note in Kurosaki's voice. Failure is all but inevitable, but this isn't going to go away just because he wants it to. If it was, he'd have managed to kick Kurosaki out of his life before he ever got settled in. Uryuu takes a long breath and nods.

"Yes."

Once more, his lungs lose precious air as Kurosaki hugs him too tightly. He quickly realizes his mistake, though, and releases Uryuu in favor of grinning at him manically. Uryuu knows he should be annoyed, even furious, for being manipulated and goaded into this—_all_ of this. Yet, the way that Kurosaki is looking at him somehow softens the transgressions.

He must sense he's in the clear because Kurosaki sets a hand to the back of his neck and nudges him forward into a gentle kiss. Uryuu doesn't bother resisting.

* * *

He wakes up fully-clothed the next morning with Kurosaki wrapped around him in place of the blanket they've kicked off the bed in their sleep. Slipping from the loose hold, Uryuu sits up and perches his nearby glasses on the bridge of his nose. He looks down at the man who refused to let him leave last night. Kurosaki's brow remains lightly furrowed even in this relaxed state.

They didn't have sex. They finished their dinner, talked a little bit about where they should go from here, and made out for a while. When Uryuu tried to leave, Kurosaki stopped him. He absently touches the spot on his arm where Kurosaki's fingers had brushed affectionately before they had fallen asleep. The skin there feels sensitive, bare.

He doesn't like the idea of being vulnerable to anyone for any reason. All of the bad experiences in his life have taught him he must always keep his guard. But Kurosaki seems intent on slowly breaking it down. Everything he says or does seems tailor-made to make Uryuu open up to him. He's not sure how he feels about that, or what he should do. If he should do anything at all. Kurosaki makes him feel happy and safe in strange, pervasive ways he never could have imagined.

Yet, Uryuu keeps picturing all the ways that Kurosaki could exploit the susceptibility he's created and make him miserable. He could break up with him at a critical academic moment and get him kicked out of university. Tell Uryuu's traditional father that his son is gay and have him disowned. Lull him into a false sense of security and yank it all out from under him when he needs it most.

Conversely, Uryuu could break Kurosaki's heart instead. He can picture the brash youth throwing a tantrum in the middle of class, at Uryuu's work, or in a crowded mall. It would be beyond humiliating and there'd be nothing he could do to stop it.

This kind of confliction is precisely why Uryuu didn't want to do any of this.

Needing to clear his head, Uryuu takes the liberty of using Kurosaki's shower. The hot water helps wake him, counteracting his low blood pressure, and providing a much-needed sense of refreshment after a very strange week. He even manages to come to a decision by the time he's done. Given that he can't revoke his admission, Uryuu will keep his word and date Kurosaki. At least for the rest of the semester. After that he makes no promises.

He shuts off the water and reaches for the towel to wrap around his hips before pushing back the curtain. Kurosaki is standing at the sink, brushing his teeth. He doesn't seem to smirk when he sees Uryuu nearly jump out of his skin in surprise but he can't be sure without his glasses.

"Can't you knock or say something?" he demands, stepping out of the tub and glaring.

Kurosaki shrugs, spitting paste into the sink before answering. "I figured you'd hear the door. It's creaky."

"No. It isn't."

Again, he shrugs. Uryuu frowns and waits expectantly. Kurosaki rinses and turns to face him, silent. "Can I change in privacy or do you intend on watching?"

That sparks a perverted smile and Uryuu mentally sighs. Then he's tensing because Kurosaki is closing the distance fast. He stops less than a foot from Uryuu and glances at different parts of his face in concentration. Uryuu doesn't know what he's up to, but he doubts it's anything good.

"You look really different without your glasses," he finally says, thoughtfully.

"Thanks," he bites, sarcastic in his irritation.

"I mean different like…really beautiful."

This time Uryuu stays quiet. Kurosaki is giving him that intent look from last night, the one that broke past his better judgments and made him agree to this ridiculous development in the first place. He doesn't trust himself to speak under this kind of appraisal. Though Uryuu's betting on being attacked, he doesn't move, just waits. Kurosaki makes a motion like he's going to touch him. Then he gives him this little smile and leaves the bathroom without another word.

Uryuu doesn't know what to make of that. The man who mercilessly teased him to the point of forcing a prude like Uryuu to practically confess his every salacious fantasy all in one night is failing to take blatant liberties when they're practically offered to him in his own home. This isn't quite the headstrong Kurosaki he's used to. And the only thing that's changed is Uryuu has agreed to emotionally reciprocate. It's almost as if Kurosaki is content to take things slowly now that he knows he can have Uryuu, more than just physically.

That is just not going to work.

Leaving his clothes neatly folded on the shelf, Uryuu stalks into the room and right up to Kurosaki, occupied with tugging off his shirt. His eyes widen when he sees Uryuu. He lowers his arms, gripping his shirt in one hand, and regards him curiously. Uryuu snatches the shirt from him and tosses it to the floor. Kurosaki's brow furrows in confusion for just an instant before it is shooting up towards his hairline because Uryuu drops his towel next.

He tugs at Kurosaki's pants as he finally leans in for a kiss. No more of that careful, gentle business from last night. Uryuu kisses him like he's starving and Kurosaki's mouth is all the sustenance he could ever want. The response is so strong it's audible. Kurosaki moans and reaches for him, firm fingers slipping over damp skin. His pants are pushed over his hips to fall around his ankles. Stepping out of them, he leads Uryuu to the bed, sitting first and pulling him into his lap without breaking the kiss.

Uryuu braces against his shoulders and spreads his thighs to sink closer. Their groins touch and he turns his head away to gasp. Kurosaki's teeth scrape over his neck, stimulating light bruises left from recent activities. That makes him think of what they've already done, what he still wants to do. It doesn't take much convincing for his brain to decide his cock is on the right track with his latest idea.

"Kurosaki," he breathes, shifting forward to rub against him.

"Mmm."

"Remember what you said the other day?"

"Absolutely not," he mutters, hands finding Uryuu's hips to encourage the movements. Kurosaki's lips tease over an ear and Uryuu momentarily loses his train of thought.

"We were fighting and then you started jerking me off in your lap."

"Want a repeat?" he murmurs low against that ear. Uryuu shivers, fingers tightening around those strong shoulders.

"No…what you said after."

It takes a moment, but Kurosaki catches on after a minute and pulls back enough to meet his eyes. The staggered look on his face as comprehension dawns makes Uryuu snicker.

"'I really can't wait to fuck you'?"

"That's the one."

"Don't tease me, Ishida," he groans into Uryuu's neck, holding him close.

"I wouldn't tease about this," Uryuu smirks, lightly drawing his nails down Kurosaki's back.

"Yeah?" The eager lilt of his tone is somehow endearing and any residual doubts Uryuu had swiftly fade. "You sure?"

"You know what you're doing, don't you?"

"I've never actually done it, but I've seen enough porn to know how it goes," Kurosaki admits, utterly honest as usual. "I won't hurt you."

Uryuu knows it's almost inevitable that Kurosaki will hurt him. He doesn't care. This was bound to happen eventually. Besides, if anyone was ever obsessive and honorable enough to really _try_, it's Kurosaki. Not that he's afraid of a little pain, though.

"I know." He nods firmly and Kurosaki smiles. Then his cell phone rings. Kurosaki ignores it in favor of leaning into a kiss, but the ringtone is one of the most annoying songs Uryuu has ever heard. "Can you turn that off?"

"Hell yes. It's just Keigo, anyway. Don't know why he'd be calling—Oh, shit!"

"What is it?"

Uryuu stands to allow him to retrieve the phone, frowning when Kurosaki answers it.

"Hey, man, I totally forgot—" Kurosaki winces as the shrill verbal flailing crackles through the receiver. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll be there in fifteen. Yeah. Okay."

He hangs up and turns guilty eyes on a disbelieving Uryuu. "I just gave you permission to fuck me and you're going to run off with Asano instead? Am I missing something here?"

"Of course not, Ishida. Normally nothing short of imminent death could drag me from that kind of opportunity but I promised him and Chad that I'd help them move their stuff out of their apartment today. They have until noon or the landlord's locking it up and hawking it for 'emotional damages' or some stupid shit like that."

"It's…" Uryuu checks his own phone, sitting on the bookshelf. "Almost ten o'clock."

"I know, which is why they need the extra help. I totally forgot they texted me last night…" He sighs and reaches for his pants to shove his legs into them. "I'll make it up to you. Tonight. Let's go out to dinner."

"A date?"

The suggestion serves to emphasize how quickly they're moving with everything. A few days ago they were tenuous friends, arguing much more often than sharing good humor, and now they're bordering on boyfriends. Uryuu is beginning to suspect he's contracted encephalitis. Brain swelling would explain his sudden change in personality.

"Yeah, a date sounds good," Kurosaki grins, pulling on a band-emblazoned shirt and grabbing a holey pair of mismatched socks. "That Italian place on Main Street? Seven o'clock?"

"Agreeable."

He stops by a skull-shaped box sitting on his desk and plucks out a key. With a quirk of his lips, Kurosaki tosses it to Uryuu, who catches it one-handed with a befuddled expression. Its color perfectly matches the brass lock on the apartment's front door.

"See you then."


	9. Chapter 9

Amber light from the street lamp he stands beside glints off the dull bronze color of the all-important Key that Uryuu has been fiddling with as he waits near the restaurant. The shine reminds him of Kurosaki's numerous piercings and metallic accessories. For someone who loves cold, hard things, Kurosaki is secretly the warmest, softest person he's ever met. All it took was an admission of reciprocated feelings—even a hint of them—and Kurosaki became all hugs and kisses. Like a damned puppy Uryuu finally deigned to pet.

Now he wonders how many of the fights they've had have been due to Kurosaki's hurt feelings when Uryuu wouldn't open up like a normal person. How many chances has Kurosaki given him to notice this? Why didn't he ever give up? The rational answer is that Uryuu is just that important to him, but since Uryuu is familiar with himself, that can't be it. No, the better suggestion is that Kurosaki is a masochist. He could see that.

"Ishida," the subject of his musing calls from across the street. Kurosaki waves before jogging over and giving him a bright smile. "Hey. You're early."

"I tend to be."

"Yeah, but I'm early, too. Which means you're _really_ early." Kurosaki's eyes scour his face for confirmation, finding it in the light blush that creeps up. "Eager to have our first date?"

"I was in the area," Uryuu lies poorly, turning to walk into the restaurant. "Come on, I'm hungry."

Uryuu doesn't know if he can get through this without some form of alcohol. He already feels like an idiot for being early, wearing cologne, and dressing nicely for something so trivial. It's not like they've never dined out together before. It's not like he wants to impress Kurosaki now that they're _involved_. What would be the point? He is the one being courted here, not the other way around. Uryuu shouldn't care whether he looks good for his date or not. So why does it seem like he's sliding into alcoholism over this?

Doesn't change the fact that he's relieved when Kurosaki orders a bottle of house wine for them. Or that he's spared the effort of making small talk by Kurosaki telling him all about his afternoon's adventure with Sado, Asano, and their crazy landlord. He's sure to make the expected comments at the appropriate times while he continues to ruminate. It's all he can do to fake interest while his mind is on something more important. Normally he doesn't hesitate to tell Kurosaki when he's being boring and vice versa. That's one of the reasons they can tolerate each other despite being so different in many ways.

Then he realizes he's attenuating his reactions and that _pisses him off_.

"Kurosaki," he interjects in the middle of another anecdote vilifying Asano's antics. The man stops mid-word with his mouth still parted and waits. Uryuu pulls out the key burning a hole in his pocket and holds it up. "Why did you give me this?"

"Shit, Ishida," he huffs a shaky laugh. "You had me worried for a second, being so quiet and then suddenly saying my name like that."

"Well? Why give me a key to your place? This is a spare to your apartment, isn't it?"

Kurosaki's shoulders tense back up as he regards Uryuu. This is something that needs to be taken seriously, and Uryuu's expression says as much. The relieved smile slips from Kurosaki's face and his gaze skates off to the side.

"Isn't it obvious? You've recently been spending so much time in my apartment anyway. I just figured, now that we're dating—"

"It's kind of a big step, don't you think?"

"Look, I'm not asking you to move in," he sighs, slouching in his chair and running a hand through his ruffled locks. "You don't even have to use it. I just thought it'd be a good idea."

The sadness pinching his eyes makes Uryuu rethink his assumptions. Kurosaki may be mildly manipulative but he's a poor liar, which means this isn't an act. He's actually hurt by Uryuu's suspicion, plain as day.

"You didn't…give this to me as an overture of trust meant to foster expedited affection in response to my unexpected solicitation?"

"…What?"

"I mean—" Uryuu shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as all his calculations come crashing down. Of course Kurosaki isn't that artful. At least not without Rukia's guidance. What had he been thinking? Still, he needs to be sure. "I mean, did you give me this key because I said I wanted to have sex with you this morning?"

"No, that didn't have anything to do with it," he firmly states. The pitch of his voice and the look he adopts indicate surprise at the insinuation. "I wanted to give it to you last night but I forgot before we fell asleep."

Now Uryuu feels like a jerk. He's kicked the puppy and he can't take it back. Kurosaki distractedly pushes his food around his plate with his head drooping like something out of a cheesy cartoon. Probably second-guessing himself and worrying about how he can make Uryuu overlook this perceived misstep.

"F-forget I said anything, Kurosaki."

"No, I should've explained—"

"It was a nice gesture that I chose to suspect instead of appreciate. The fault is mine."

"Okay."

The admission doesn't seem to cheer him up much. Uryuu doesn't see why it should, but he had to try. Then he gets an idea.

"It'll come in handy." Kurosaki gives him a questioning look. Uryuu smiles. "This way I don't have to break in when I want to surprise you with morning sex."

That startles a delighted laugh from him. Just like that, the mood is lifted. Uryuu changes the subject by discussing his latest novel of choice and how certain themes remind him of Kurosaki's unique worldview. Now that the elephant in the room has been addressed and dealt with, the awkward atmosphere dissolves like sugar in warm water. Wine is sipped, pasta is slurped, and breadsticks are snapped. Uryuu shows his teeth not in roiling agitation, but in rich amusement. By the time they pay the check and traipse outside, they are both red-cheeked and far too cheerful.

"I can't believe you said that to your professor," Kurosaki chuckles as they start down the dark street leading toward their apartments. "I could never get away with that shit. They all take one look at me and assume I peddle drugs to kids on the weekends."

"Mmm, yes, I could see you doing that. If the drugs were acetaminophen or ibuprofen for a sprained ankle." Gently shoved for the tease, Uryuu pushes back only to step closer than before. Kurosaki's arm brushes his as they walk and he doesn't mind one bit. "It's all about _presentation_, Kurosaki. Look the part and the rest will follow."

"You telling me to dress like you? How many fancy slacks and vests do you have? I don't own a single white button-up."

"If you're good maybe I'll lend you something."

"Oh, yeah?" Their pace slows as he leans closer to murmur in Uryuu's ear, "What's your definition of 'good'? Does it involve being really 'bad'?"

Kurosaki lifts a hand to trace a finger down the side of his neck, shifting his shirt collar and baring skin for him to dip down and kiss. Light, teasing presses that hint at a waiting heat slowly work their way up his throat. Tickling orange fringe brushes against Uryuu's cheek until Kurosaki finally makes it to his mouth. But he doesn't quite land the mark, stopping at the edge and pulling away to meet Uryuu's slatted eyes. Kurosaki licks his lips, flashing that silver stud he knows always flicks Uryuu like a fucking switch.

A soft inhale is all the warning Uryuu gives before reaching both hands up to tug him into a thorough kiss. Tongues tasting of smooth wine touch and twist in a prelude to what they both begin to dream of doing soon. The press of Kurosaki's body to his shocks even as it soothes, warmth seeping between them to battle the night's chill. Feather-light fingertips dance along the length of Uryuu's spine and create pleasant tingles rippling out to raise gooseflesh. Uryuu's pulse doubles as he boldly takes a possessive grip of Kurosaki's ass.

The sound of his surprised groan brings them back to reality. Reluctantly disengaging, they trade sheepish looks before glancing around them for passersby. It's late but there are still a few people milling around on the sidewalks. Luckily, no one is paying attention to a couple of tipsy men making out in the shadow of a closed shop. Kurosaki makes a determined face and grabs Uryuu's wrist to lead him towards one of their apartments. Although he can't deny he wants to go, there's something else Uryuu wants to do first.

"Wait. Let's take a quick detour."

"I already have lube, Ishida."

"No, you fool," he snorts at how serious Kurosaki is about it. "I want to show you something."

The memory of Kurosaki's attempt to cheer Uryuu up a week after they met flickers through both of their minds. Though it has only been a handful of months, it seems like eons ago that they were still fiercely snapping at each other like territorial wolves. Now it has become something more like playful nipping. Smiling at the imagery, Uryuu rotates his wrist to slip his palm into place between Kurosaki's loose hold instead. He doesn't acknowledge the stunned look Kurosaki shoots him, turning to draw him towards a narrow side street.

About five minutes of quick walking gets them to a large park and public garden. Uryuu stops at a small clearing tucked amidst bushes, trees, and a little gurgling stream. During the day this area is always full of visitors, drawn to its beauty and tranquil atmosphere. But Uryuu discovered long ago that its true attraction is in the moment you find yourself alone in it. Surrounded by the sights, sounds, and scents of nature without the distractions of others around you.

He doesn't hesitate to drop down to the plush mat of thick grass and lie on his back. Kurosaki watches him for a moment before following his example and scooting right up next to him, their shoulders touching. It takes all of three seconds before Kurosaki reconnects their cooling hands. For a while, they just lie in silent contemplation, enjoying the other's presence without having to fill the space with words.

What few stars they can see so close to a city blink calmly at them from above. Uryuu is reminded of a time when he used to go on family camping trips and spy on them with his little telescope. Although that was before it was just Uryuu and his father. Before they had to try and learn how to get along without the buffers of other family members to smooth out the rough edges between them.

"Do you ever think about what your life will be like in five years? In ten?" Kurosaki quietly asks, eyes on the sky. "Most of the time I'm too busy to plan next week, much less next year."

"I know what you mean. Every time I pause to consider how things might be after I finish school, I just wind up thinking about how far away that reality seems to be. All the things I have to do before I get there." Shifting into a more comfortable position, Uryuu turns his head to look at Kurosaki directly and lock gazes. "Trying to picture myself as a practicing physician reminds me how much I still have left to learn."

"No kidding. My old man likes to say I'm a natural, that running a clinic will be really easy with him showing me the ropes. But he's such a fruitcake that I have trouble believing _he_ knows what he's doing half the time. Much less guiding me, too."

"I'll babysit yours if you indenture yourself to mine," Uryuu offers, only half-joking. Kurosaki snickers anyway. "But I'll warn you: Ryuuken doesn't tolerate failure."

"He probably just needs to get laid," teases Kurosaki with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. "I'm sure he means well."

"I suppose in some skewed way he's 'pushing me towards success' or something like that. Though sometimes I wish he would stop caring at all. That might be easier to deal with than constant disappointment."

Pulling away from him, Kurosaki pushes to hands and knees to brace above Uryuu and look him squarely in the eye. His expression is unreadable and for a moment Uryuu wonders if he's about to be griped at for whining too much. Then Kurosaki leans down to press the sweetest peck to his lips. Nothing intent, just a delicate display of affection, but it explodes in Uryuu's chest like a supernova.

"Want me to kick his ass for you?" The threat is whispered against Uryuu's skin, too soft to sound as brash as it should. When he slowly shakes his head 'no' to the kind offer, their noses rub lightly once. Twice. "You're shivering."

Spring's pleasant warmth carried into the night, but now the sun's lengthening absence leeches lingering heat away from them. The earth's chill beneath him is drinking Uryuu's limited reserves and leaving him cold in his inactivity. At least that's what he tells himself. The truth might have more to do with Kurosaki's seemingly boundless compassion.

Feeling strangely shaken and grounded at the same time, Uryuu takes Kurosaki's outstretched hand to help him up. He forces himself to think of other things as they make their way home.

* * *

"Are you _really_ sure about this, Ishida? I mean we don't have to do this right away—"

"I'm sure. I went to the trouble of preparing for this kind of thing, so I'm damn sure not backing out of it now."

"Preparing?"

Uryuu hides his frown by sucking a bruise onto the skin of Kurosaki's exposed shoulder. He pulls Kurosaki's hoodie the rest of the way off and skips his shirt to go straight for his belt.

"Yes, preparing. I'm studying to be a _doctor_, Kurosaki. I know a few things about proper hygiene with certain activities."

"You mean you—" he cuts himself off to moan at the feeling of Uryuu's hands reaching into his boxers. "That is so fucking hot!"

"If you say so. I found it mildly uncomfortable, but I'm sure that lessens with practice."

Leaving his task so Kurosaki can tug off his clothes, Uryuu allows himself to be stripped as they make their way towards the bedroom. He's amused by the notion that they're making a literal trail of clothes on the way. Like the climactic scene in a bad romantic comedy.

"It's the fact that you did it so I could fuck you," Kurosaki candidly states. "That's what turns me on."

"Glad that's cleared up," he sarcastically agrees. Setting his glasses on the bedside table, Uryuu drops his boxer-briefs and openly ogles Kurosaki's nearly-nude body. "Now take off your underwear so I can suck your dick."

Kurosaki laughs as he does as he's told and gets rewarded as promised. His knees wobble dangerously, so Uryuu pushes him to the bed and scoots in to continue. It doesn't take long for Kurosaki's breathing to grow labored. The muscles in his thighs tense; Uryuu trails light fingertips across them as he bobs his head a little faster. The increased pace disintegrates whatever invisible gag had been preventing Kurosaki's usual stream of senseless babbling.

"You're not the only one who did some prep work, y'know. I-I showered right before I went to the restaurant," he huffs, voice higher with the stress of impending orgasm. Every strained word is a tongue excitedly licking at Uryuu's heated skin. "Jerked off twice thinking of you like this, Ishida. Mostly 'cause I couldn't stop if I tried, but also so I could last if we did it for real. But I don't—_aah, _yeah, like that—don't think it helped much_…Fuck_, how are you so good at this?"

Uryuu watches in fascination as Kurosaki swallows and shuts his eyes against it, letting his head tilt back as he focuses on keeping himself in check. He almost wants to let him have it, but he's thought about this too much to give in to whims now. Kurosaki's not the only one with fantasies.

"If we're doing this," Uryuu halts to say. "Then I'm claiming a condition."

"_Anything_."

That lust-blown gaze shamelessly checking him out almost has him changing his mind. Almost, but not quite. Kurosaki will thank him for this later.

"You can't come until I say so."

The stipulation shocks some of the daze from him. He sits up a little straighter and almost glares. But then he smirks. "Agreed, as long as the same goes for you."

He expected as much. Uryuu fights to keep his excitement hidden as he feigns displeasure at that. As if taking their verbal battles into the bedroom wasn't originally part of his wicked plan. After a moment, he shrugs. "I suppose that's fair. I hope you have enough cord for both of us."

Kurosaki shakes his head, "Even better."

Rummaging through the bottom drawer of his nightstand, Kurosaki pulls out lube, condoms, and a pair of simple devices clearly designed for just such a purpose. He doesn't bother hiding his triumphant smile when Uryuu's eyes widen in disbelief.

"Kurosaki Ichigo: sexual deviant."

"Hey, just because I like to try new things doesn't make me a pervert," he purrs, pulling Uryuu up to sit beside him on the bed. He nuzzles into his hair as he adds, "I may or may not have bought them yesterday with this in mind."

"I always knew you were secretly a freak," Uryuu murmurs back.

He takes the little bit of leather and promptly straddles Kurosaki. Pressing hard on his sternum, Uryuu shoves him to lie flat on the bed and shifts lower to carefully apply it. He knows it's working when Kurosaki gives a little grunt of discomfort. Then he reaches down to do the same to himself. It's more annoying than anything and certainly not painful. The doctor in him has him glancing at the clock to start the timer, just in case.

"We should test it, make sure it's working."

"Maybe we should."

"I think I know just the way."

Before Uryuu can object, Kurosaki grabs him and reverses their positions. His hair splays artfully across the blue sheets as he hits the bed; he catches Kurosaki taking a moment to appreciate the image. Then he is dipping low to draw a wet circle around his left nipple. He draws the silver bar slowly over the hardening flesh several times, switching to the opposite one after a moment. Uryuu's back arches off the bed when that slick bead finds the head of his cock.

Mouth opening on a groan, his eyes roll back when Kurosaki takes him all the way down. Again, his hands instinctively go for the sturdy rails at the end of the bed frame, holding on for his sanity. He turns his head into his arm to muffle the embarrassingly loud sounds he can't stop making. Kurosaki's hands grip hard at his squirming hips.

"Kurosaki…I think…it's working," he pants, biting his lip against those ridiculous moans. "You can stop now!"

"Mm, I'm not so sure."

"I _am_."

Kurosaki shows him a smug grin while slithering up his body, dragging hands along as he goes. They keep going, following up Uryuu's arms to where they connect with the headrest. He takes the liberty of grinding against him and kissing up the side of his throat. Uryuu knows he could come like this, right now, if not for the bands preventing it. He swallows back the soft whimper that thought inspires.

"You seem to like holding onto this. Mind if I tie you to it?"

"What?" In his haze, Uryuu failed to notice him reaching for a tie, conveniently resting in the same drawer as the lube. "Wait—"

"Your mouth says 'wait', but your hard-on says 'yes, please'," he teases as he deftly knots Uryuu's wrists to the structure. The binding is tight but not overly so; Uryuu could probably pull free if he tried hard enough. He can't deny Kurosaki's cheesy words when he can feel the excited twitch this new development has caused, too. "Now I can do this and you can totally claim I forced you into it later."

"What are you talking abo—Ah!"

With a stunned gasp, Uryuu is once again flipped, this time to his knees, with his ass sticking up into the air. He barely has time to recover from the vertigo before what little sense he's been able to retain is finally lost. Kurosaki's tongue is brushing gently where it really shouldn't be and the _feeling_ is…

"Oh, my_ fucking god_!" he breathes into the pillow in one quick whoosh of air. "_Nngh, _Kurosaki!"

That is all the language he manages for a while. The rest is pathetic, high sounds that slip from his mouth like startled birds. He's never felt anything so oddly delightful as Kurosaki's dexterous tongue lapping at his balls and rubbing against his ass in a chaotic rhythm, that torturous piercing providing keen pressure in unpredictable ways. His hands fist around the bars as his toes curl on their own. Even though he knows he is gaping like a suffocating fish, Uryuu can't be bothered to care about oxygen at the moment. He's too busy trying to remember the words to make demands…or maybe pleas.

Uryuu is aware of his erection, heavy and steadily dripping beneath him. It is insistent, demanding attention, and Kurosaki purposely ignores this. He offers Uryuu a brief respite by lifting his mouth for a moment. It is enough for Uryuu to begin to catch his breath and a few scraps of scattered sanity.

"Just tell me if I do anything…unpleasant. Okay?"

The sound of his voice, deep and tremulous, is another cruel addition to the list of things utterly ruining him. The slick finger sliding inside of him is one more. Kurosaki leans forward to kiss down his spine as he twists and presses. Uryuu knows what he is searching for, waiting with bated breath until—

He screams into the pillow, coming without actually releasing any of the tension. Hips jerk as Uryuu's cock spasms with it. The pleasure soon retreats to leave him feeling even more aroused than he already was. If that's even possible.

"That was…officially the hottest thing…I've ever seen," Kurosaki pants against his back. "We have to do this _every single night_ for the rest of our lives."

"Kurosaki," he manages in spite of the fingers _still moving_ inside of him. "If you don't…fuck me _right now_…I will make sure…you can never have sex again."

"I think we should buy a vibrator," Kurosaki huskily rants as he continues at his own pace, adding a third finger and purposely brushing over Uryuu's prostate at intervals, just to make him twitch and gasp. "See who can last the longest like this. I want to get one that writhes around inside you and suck your cock until you scream for it. Can we do that, Ishida?"

He has some choice words just itching to be snarled, but they're stolen away when Kurosaki decides his neglected dick needs a lubed hand to show it some attention. The fire spreading through his body reaches a crescendo and Kurosaki _finally_ starts to push in. Uryuu is beyond caring about potential pain, he wants to do this _now_. Hips bucking back, Uryuu looses a plaintive stream of _yesyes__**fuck**__yes_ that turns into a gratified moan as Kurosaki steadily fills him.

There is bright-hot pressure and _yesgodplease_ that doesn't quite make it to his mouth but is heard regardless. Kurosaki stills and something like a sob sticks in his throat. Uryuu knows how he feels. It is Kurosaki's turn to be rendered speechless. It's probably all he can do not to start slamming into Uryuu with all his might. The fact that Uryuu emphatically urges him to do just that can't be helping.

Slow as shifting glaciers, Kurosaki moves. Uryuu writhes like a thing lost, words becoming garbled and broken. It takes mere seconds before they are both trembling with it. He slams his hips back and Kurosaki finally takes the hint and speeds up. A few moments later, he stops altogether and Uryuu would berate him if he could. He is lucky to be coordinating breath with movement at this point.

Kurosaki reaches forward to pull the knot binding Uryuu to the headboard, freeing him. Uryuu begins to shift onto all fours but Kurosaki has other ideas. In one precise, careful motion he adjusts their position so that he is on his back and Uryuu is straddling him. This way he can control the pace and Kurosaki has hands free to _touch_. It's somehow perfect and Uryuu relishes the awed eyes that gaze up at him, the reverent hands that stroke over his body, and the ease with which he can dip and kiss Kurosaki breathless.

When he pulls back to focus on his pace, Uryuu is struck by the emotion Kurosaki is showing him right now. There is no filter, no pretense in that face and he is reeling from it. He thinks of all the times he's seen those softer looks, wondering what they meant and dismissing them as Kurosaki's strangeness. Now he believes it was _this_.

Distilled in this moment, it is obvious: Kurosaki is in love with him.

The revelation shocks him, triggering a short rush of panic.

So when Kurosaki grips his arm and murmurs his given name for the first time, so quietly he almost misses it in the white noise of shifting skin and elevated breathing, Uryuu hides a wince in the damp fuzz of his hair. And Ichigo pulls him against his chest, whispering an urgent request that Uryuu is more than ready to grant. So he reaches down, flicking with nimble fingers, and frees them both in the span of seconds. They have enough time for three more thrusts before everything violently tumbles out of them and comes crashing back inside.

Uryuu is left gasping with something much larger than physical exertion and pleasure. He feels the weight of emotional attachment swelling in his chest and makes the mistake of checking Kurosaki for signs of a similar experience. The man is staring at him with eyes simultaneously clear and dark and trained on Uryuu like a leaf to the sun. Kurosaki smiles at him, bright and sated. Uryuu wants to tell him to stop it even as his heart squeezes at the sight. He hides stinging eyes against the slope of Kurosaki's shoulder.

* * *

AN: One more chapter and a short epilogue will probably both be posted tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Three weeks later marks the end of the school year and Ichigo doesn't know whether to cry or cheer. On one hand, they've just finished their penultimate year: only one more before they head off to medical school. On the other hand, Ishida might be studying abroad for the summer. Ichigo doesn't know if he could stand to go without seeing him for that long. He keeps thinking of how gorgeous Ishida is and how easily he could snare _anyone_ else while Ichigo isn't there. Not to mention how much he would miss the man. It's been hard enough trying to squeeze in time together between finals, part-time jobs, and their various extra-curricular activities.

It also doesn't help that Ishida seems to be finding more things to occupy himself with the more Ichigo tries to be with him. He expected some hesitation, coming from a guy as emotionally dysfunctional as Ishida, but he's nearing his wit's end. Ichigo has tried every trick in his and Rukia's repertoire to get him to open up now that they're officially dating. The sex is still amazing—_every_ single time—but Ichigo wants more than getting off. He wants idle banter and impassioned arguments. Quiet consideration and those piercing moments of affection that bring you to the razor-edge of bittersweet. He wants to feel like reaching out to Ishida is as easy as exchanging a meaningful glance.

Instead he is getting a litany of rejections. Cold tone, decreased contact. When they get together Ishida doesn't want to talk, just goes straight for Ichigo's belt. It's almost as if Ishida is determined to see them drift before they've really connected in the first place. And every time he brings it up Ishida shuts down or runs off.

Ichigo is not having it.

Rukia tells him not to force it. Tells him that Ishida has lived a solitary life and this will take time. Even more time than it took her to be close friends with Ishida in the first place. What she doesn't realize is that Ichigo is incapable of such saintly patience. He'll go insane before he can wait two years to have Ishida the way he wants to, not just in body but in mind and spirit as well.

So he does something he never imagined possible: he decides to withhold sex until Ishida stops acting like such a twit. The very idea has him scowling in trepidation. But it must be done. Ichigo has the terrible feeling that if something isn't resolved between them and Ishida studies abroad without him, he'll lose his chance forever. Thinking about moments like the night they spent talking and kissing before they slept innocently in Ichigo's bed has him craving that intimacy. Though it was never something he really thought about, he wonders now if his past relationships failed because they lacked exactly that element, the capability for a highly specific kind of contentment shared between two people.

It's more than enough to solidify his resolve.

"Hey, Ichigo," Rukia greets him with a grin at her door. "What brings you here this fine Saturday afternoon?"

"Hey," he smiles back. "I'm here to kidnap Ishida."

"Good luck. He's been locked in his room for the past three hours."

"Why?"

Shrugging, she closes the door behind him and follows him into the living room. Rukia collapses onto her couch in a flurry of paper, pastels, and paints littering every surface within a meter of her spot there. Her final is this project and it's due Monday morning, so it makes sense she'd be plugging away at it all weekend. He and Ishida, on the other hand, only have four finals this semester and three of them are already done and passed. The fourth one is next Friday morning, meaning they basically have the whole week to goof off if they want to.

"I like this part here," he tells her, pointing to a corner of canvas with a pair of bunnies hugging. Little hearts sprout above their heads in a Technicolor eruption.

"You would like that part. Guess who inspired it?"

Ichigo rolls his eyes and doesn't tell her that there's no way he and Ishida could be represented as rabbits. Maybe a dog and a cat or something. Then he thinks about how rabbits are infamous for reproduction and he blushes. Her laughter at that fades as he makes his way down the hall to Ishida's room. Knocking, he listens for the phrase of permission before entering. Ishida is lying belly-down on his bed with his feet perched up and a book between his braced elbows. The long fringe normally bordering the right side of his face is neatly pinned atop his head, out of the way while he studies. He's wearing white shorts and a blue striped tank top to match the late-spring weather spilling in through his open window.

Seeing Ichigo in his doorway, he pushes himself up to sit cross-legged on his bed.

"Kurosaki. I thought you had plans with Kojima and Asano tonight."

"Nah, they decided they need to study for their Monday finals."

"Unusually prudent of them."

"Mn."

Ishida doesn't clear a space and invite him to sit. Nor does he offer a greeting kiss. He doesn't even smile. Instead, he watches Ichigo with a neutral expression as he fidgets beside the closed door searching for a way to say this. How do you tell someone that they need to stop being so damned cold and just accept the fact that it's okay to like someone? How do you selfishly ask them to stay with you all summer when they could otherwise go to the UK and experience a new culture while gaining invaluable experience for your future career? How do you admit that these things are so important that you've decided to temporarily give up one of the most enjoyable hobbies a human could ever engage in?

"Did you want something, or do you intend to stand there and stare at me all day?"

And Ichigo is having a crisis. He is looking at Ishida's tight outfit, that cute hairstyle, and the spread of his magical fingers over the curves of his bare knees. He's thinking about the last time they were together—two days ago—and how it seems like an _eternity_ now that Ishida is right in front of him. Scantily clad and lounging on a bed that smells like all the best parts of him. Ichigo's hands ball into fists on their own and he feels a drop of sweat slide down the side of his neck. Blue eyes appraise him knowingly, single eyebrow quirking minutely.

Then he is kneeling in front of Ishida, tasting his mouth and loosing a relieved groan against it. Ishida accepts it with warm tongue and warmer palms pulling him closer. Ichigo pushes him down and finds his absolute favorite place to be, snugly-fit between Ishida's long legs. His mind instantly clouds over with a pleasant haze. By the time he checks back in, both of their shirts are pushed up out of the way and Ishida is reaching for his pants. He gasps and jerks away from him.

"Shit, no, we can't—"

"If you're worried about Rukia, I really doubt she'd mind," Ishida murmurs low, looking right at Ichigo's mouth. "You don't want to know how many times she's joked about sneaking in on us…"

"That's not—she what? No, I wasn't thinking about Rukia."

"I should hope not."

"I didn't mean to kiss you."

"You mean to tease me instead?"

"No, damn it, Ishida!" Extricating himself from Ishida's arms is never, ever easy. It's a million times harder when they're both excited but somehow he manages it. "I'm saying I can't sleep with you."

"Then why did you come here?"

"_That's_ why."

"What?"

"If you can't think of any other reason that I'd want to see you than that I want sex, I'm not making myself clear."

"Elucidate, then," he says with folded arms and the beginnings of a glare.

"All you ever want to do is have sex."

"Your point is…?"

Growling in irritation at the situation in general, Ichigo rubs a hand over his face and turns away from him. Wishing it could be simpler does no good. It never will. Yet, that doesn't stop him from doing it.

"Look, I came over to say 'don't go'. Don't do that program overseas because I don't want you to be gone for even one day, much less _eight weeks_. I don't want to miss you more than I already do whenever we're not together."

Ichigo's eyes are locked onto the floor. He's too afraid to see Ishida's reaction to his short, sappy monologue. From what he knows of his pseudo-boyfriend, however, it's probably not going over well. The harsh words 'get out' are soon to come. Ishida will do his program and dump Ichigo over the phone halfway through it. He'll find someone more than willing to eschew emotion for the modern marvel that is Ishida's body and the things it can do. All because Ichigo never was any good at talking about his feelings.

"Kurosaki, you…" His gentle timbre widens Ichigo's eyes and has them swiveling sideways to see. Ishida is regarding him with uncertainty. "You can't ask things like that."

"Yes, I can. I can, Ishida, because we're dating and I should get some say in our immediate future."

"'Our future'? I think you have the wrong idea—"

"No, it's you who has the wrong idea! Being in a relationship with someone isn't just messing around all the time."

"What gave you the notion that I wanted a _relationship_?" Ishida demands, finally showing some anger. "You're the one who wouldn't leave me alone. Who tricked me into sleeping with you in the first place? It was you, Kurosaki, who asked me out and pestered me until I said yes!"

"Only because I knew you'd want to if you just let yourself relax for half a second," he can't help shouting. Ichigo is beyond fed up with Ishida's self-delusions and half-truths. "You can't honestly tell me that you'd rather I never bothered you, can you?"

Ishida doesn't answer right away. In fact, he doesn't answer at all. His eyes find a section of the floor to stare at as his lips press into a discomfited line. Ichigo feels the fire drain right out of him and pain slips in to take its place. He never imagined in a million years that he'd be the one getting heartbroken over a boy. That sort of thing is supposed to stay in stupid sappy movies and not invade his life with its bruising reality.

Then again, Ichigo never really thought he would fall this hard for someone, either.

His chest tightens and strains his next breath. It rasps in with the cold burn of winter wind and nearly chokes him. A hand reaches out to the wall to steady him as his world shifts, accommodating the idea that Ishida doesn't really care about him. That Ichigo has basically been selfishly harassing him for months. Nothing but physical attraction is reciprocated. How could he have been so wrong about everything?

"Kurosaki..." comes a concerned murmur at last. "What is it? You look ill."

"Don't worry, Ishida, I'm not gonna puke on your carpet," he sneers, tightening his fist and gritting his teeth.

"What are you talking about? I'm not worried about the carpet—"

"Actually, I'm not gonna do anything to you ever again." Ishida stands and starts to approach but stops at Ichigo's raised hand. "You were right all along: I'm an idiot. A complete moron who thought you—" Ichigo cuts himself off before he says something irrevocable out loud. He meets Ishida's sharp gaze and says, "I'm sorry I've been such a fucking nuisance. I won't bother you anymore."

Ichigo rips the door open and walks out without waiting for the reply. He doesn't need to hear any placating commiseration, doesn't want to see the pitying pinch in Ishida's eyes—or worse, nothing at all. So when Ishida stops him with a firm hand on his wrist, Ichigo refuses to turn around.

"Kurosaki, wait a second. What are you saying?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he says towards the hallway. Rukia has gone still at the couch but she has the decency not to stare at them making a scene in Ishida's doorway. "I'm breaking up with you. I know when we started this I said I was fine with it just being about sex, but I can't do it anymore, Ishida. I love you too much."

The final sentence gets a startled gasp from him and he drops Ichigo's arm faster than a venomous snake. It adds another layer of hurt on top of everything and it has Ichigo squeezing his eyes shut for a second before he resumes motion, fleeing the apartment like his life depends on it.

Ishida doesn't stop him this time.

* * *

Rukia finds him five days later facedown on the floor of his living room. He had bent over to pick up a sock and just...followed through with the earthward motion. Because why bother to stand back up when all he wants to do is sleep for the next three years?

"This is too pathetic, Ichigo," she shrills directly above him in her drill-instructor voice, "Even for you. Get up!"

With a sound part-sigh and part-grunt, he pushes up to a sitting position and glances at her disinterestedly. Rukia scoffs and starts to drag him the rest of the way off the floor. He goes unwillingly enough, making her petite frame strain more than he really should.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be going on a road trip with Renji for the break?"

"As if I could leave knowing you'd be in this state!" Stronger than she looks, Rukia shoves him down the hall and into his bathroom despite his resistance. "Take a shower, Ichigo. You stink. When's the last time you spared a thought about hygiene? No, don't answer that...Hurry up, I'll wait here."

Seeing no easier way to get rid of her than to do what she says, Ichigo rolls his eyes and shuts the door in her face so he can get naked and wash. As with everything he has done in the almost week since he broke up with Ishida, he goes through the motions without really thinking about what he's doing. It's too hard to care about anything other than the lancing pain of loss he feels every time a stray thought of Ishida passes through his mind. Which is often.

Ichigo must have considered running over to apologize and plead five million times by now. But he knows it's no good. There's nothing he can say to Ishida to change his mind if he doesn't already feel that way about Ichigo. All he can do is hope time eventually dulls the ache.

"I'm clean. Happy?" he snaps as soon as he emerges dressed and refreshed. "Will you leave now?"

"Not until you stop making that face."

"This is how my face is, Rukia. You've seen it before, haven't you? So stop pestering me and go have fun with your boyfriend!"

His voice breaks on the last word and they stare at each other in silence until Rukia's anger melts to sadness. She steps close to pull him into a tight hug. Ichigo lets her hold him because they both could use it. He knows it must be hard on her, too, stuck in the middle of two close friends falling out like this. At least she doesn't have to see Ishida moping around like Ichigo has been all week. He hasn't even bothered studying for his remaining final exam tomorrow morning.

"You're not this stupid, Ichigo," she draws back to say. "You should know better."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Uryuu made me promise not to talk to you…but you know I can't keep a secret to save my life," Rukia mutters darkly. "At this rate, it seems neither of you is going to man-up and approach the other, so I don't have much choice."

"Don't bother. It doesn't matter. If this is what Ishida wants, then—"

"He was crying," she interjects with a rough whisper. Ichigo is too stunned to respond; there's no way he heard that right. "That day you came to the apartment and wound up breaking up with him, he cried after you left. Ichigo, I had never seen him shed so much as a single tear before, but I heard him through the door…"

"_What_?"

"He might've kept at it the next day, too. I don't know because he locked himself in his room. Didn't even come out for dinner. And when I tried to talk to him about it he shot me down. Practically bit my head off and threatened to move out if I didn't leave it alone."

"Why would he…why would Ishida cry for something like that if he didn't want to be with me in the first place?"

"That's what I'm saying, you dunce." Rukia's muted attempt at a rebuke is too soft to sting. Her eyes gloss with emotion and Ichigo feels the telltale welling in his own. "That's _not_ what he wanted. He just couldn't admit that to himself, and especially to you. I know Uryuu better than anyone. He loves you, Ichigo."

The statement crashes over him like an avalanche, freezing and suffocating for the mistake he has made. Ichigo steps around her to collapse onto the sofa. He rests his head in his open hands and breathes around the tightening in his chest. Gently perching beside him, Rukia's light arm snakes around his waist in a half-hug. She offers silent support and waits for him to speak.

"I was so sure it was all in my head…"

"It isn't."

"There's no way he could be that confused!"

"He is."

"You're sure?"

"I am. You have to go to him, Ichigo." Suddenly urgent, she pushes his hands away to look him firmly in the eye. "Before he leaves for that internship and you can't see each other for two months! Uryuu can pretend all he wants, but losing you like this will _destroy_ him. If you care about him, you can't let that happen."

"I won't. I'll go talk to him," he swears. "Where is he?"

"Come on."

* * *

They spend the better part of the evening trying to track Ishida down. Rukia admits that he hasn't been home much lately, nor has he been in the mood to answer texts and calls. They even go so far as to visit Ishida's father at the hospital. Of course, he has no clue about anything going on with his son but at least he agrees to contact them if he sees him.

Hours later they stop for a quick dinner after a sweep through campus. Ichigo is starting to get worried. He keeps picturing Ishida miserable and lonely in a dark corner somewhere. This mental image carries them through searching for the rest of the night. Finally, Rukia calls it a night and heads home with a promise to start fresh after Ichigo's exam the next day. She leaves him at his apartment with the command to study and pass it because failing a class isn't going to help anything. After some coaxing, Ichigo promises to do as he is told, though he can't imagine being able to study at a time like this.

Just opening his textbook makes him think of Ishida and all the times they've done homework or crammed together. He flips sullenly through its pages to the relevant chapter and starts skimming. It's not as if he doesn't already know this stuff. Ishida's proclivity for academia extends to those around him through mental osmosis. The sheer force of his genius has boosted Ichigo's grades all semester anyway. He could pretty much fail the exam and still pass the class. Figures Ishida wouldn't let him fail over something dumb like pining after him. Hell, he'd probably tease Ichigo for being hopelessly sentimental if he were here now.

A fat drop of water hits the page, sinking in and warping the print before Ichigo realizes where it came from. Startled, he wipes at his eyes and finds more moisture there. Ichigo growls in irritation at himself and throws the book across the room. It hits the floor with a jarring _thud_ and falls open to a random page. Knowing his luck, it's probably the one Ishida was reading when they first met in the library.

Just like that, his frustration shifts to sorrow.

A soft knocking at the door has him brushing away the fresh tears. Assuming it's Rukia anticipating his complete inability to be productive, he stays planted in his seat and calls, "Come in." Hearing the door open and shut again, Ichigo grumbles without looking up. "Look, I gave it my best shot, okay? There's just no way I can study like this, Rukia. I can barely—"

Ishida is standing in his living room. Jolting to his feet, Ichigo turns to gape at him in shock. Of all the people to show up at his door…Ichigo can't help noticing that he looks very tired. His hair is not as shiny as usual and slightly mussed besides. Eyes dark-rimmed behind uneven glasses. Finally, Ishida's slouched posture is a far cry from his usual proud stance.

"I-I know I must be the last person you want to see right now, Kurosaki, but please hear me out. I'll be quick and say what I came to tell you and then I'll leave if you want. Just…just hear me out, okay?" Thoroughly dumbstruck, Ichigo couldn't speak if his life depended on it. He mutely nods and Ishida takes a steadying breath before beginning. "I am a fool. My whole life has been about keeping myself safe—my sanity, my pride, and most importantly my heart. I've gotten very good at protecting against the myriad dangers of unkind people. But I took it too far. When I finally met someone who deserved to be let in, I pushed you away."

"Ishida, you—"

"Please…let me finish?" The way Ishida is looking at him has Ichigo yearning to reach for him. Respecting his wishes, he stays put and quiet. "I hurt you, Kurosaki. You cared for me a great deal and I threw it back in your face. If I were a better person it would never have happened. I know I can't take back the frustration and pain you've suffered because of me, but I have to apologize anyway. I'm so sorry, Ichigo."

Wincing as if he hadn't meant to use his given name like that, Ishida's gaze lowers to the floor in shame. Ichigo can't stand it anymore. He crosses the distance between them and grabs him by the shoulders. Wide blue eyes fly to his and Ichigo's heart twinges to see him so vulnerable. Not knowing whether Ichigo is planning to throw him out or lock him in. The uncertainty is so nerve-racking for someone as poised and meticulous as Ishida that he's actually trembling.

"You _idiot_."

"I know. I'm sor—" Of course Ichigo kisses him. Arms wrap around and Ishida makes a surprised sound before melting into it. Ichigo breaks away after a moment but only so he can hold him closer, hand at the back of his neck and straining to feel Ishida's heartbeat against his. Ishida's next words are tight with emotion. "I'm sorry, Ichigo. I was so stupid. _I love you_."


	11. Epilogue

"Ready, Uryuu?"

"No. Why do I let you talk me into these things? I think I've changed my mind."

"Aw, come on," Ichigo goads with a sly grin, settling reassuring hands to Uryuu's tense shoulders. "It doesn't hurt that much. Besides, the next time will be easier."

"You would know, Ichigo. How many times have you done it now?"

"Like you haven't counted," he snickers, bringing a light flush to Uryuu's face. "We can double-check later if you want."

"If you kids are done bickering like a married couple, can I do what you're paying me for?" snaps a short woman with dyed-violet hair and two full sleeves of tattoos. "I have other clients to get to, y'know."

"Sorry, sorry. Uryuu, I won't force you if you're really not sure, but...I still think it's a really awesome idea and you won't regret it. Promise!"

Sighing in surrender, Uryuu gathers his resolve and nods to the waiting woman. She steps forward while he takes a deep breath and stares straight ahead at a spot on the brick wall across from him. Ichigo's fingers slip into his hand, offering moral support as much as something to grip.

The shining silver needle she brandishes makes Uryuu's eye twitch in trepidation, but he doesn't budge as she leans close and takes firm hold of his left ear. A dull sickening snap has him clenching his teeth milliseconds before the pain hits, sharp and fiery but quick to recede to a raw ache. Practiced and confident, the piercing artist deftly slips in and closes the little metal ring to complete the procedure.

Uryuu now has his very first piercing in the cartilage of his ear. First in an eventual series, if you ask Ichigo.

"How is it?" he asks Uryuu with a sympathetic wince.

"Not that bad, actually."

"Told ya. It looks great!"

"Thanks for your patience," Uryuu says to the bored woman flashing them a polite smile before walking off to the lounge for her next customer. Then to Ichigo, "Let's go."

He doesn't realize they're still holding hands as they amble down the sidewalk until Uryuu notices a middle-aged man raising an eyebrow at them. Feeling unusually righteous, he tightens his grip and raises his chin in defiance. The man gives a resigned shrug and passes them without comment.

"I saw that," mutters Ichigo with a pleased smirk. "Keep that up and everyone in town will know we're together."

"Good. I want them to know. If even Ryuuken can come to terms with it, everyone else who matters should be able to. Maybe we should wear matching T-shirts."

Laughing aloud, Ichigo pulls him to a stop to steal a quick kiss. "Since you did this for me, Uryuu, I'll wear whatever you want."

"I didn't do it just for you," he gently corrects as they resume walking. "Your atrocious fashion sense seems to be growing on me, that's all."

"Does that mean we can dress you up in tattered jeans and tight sleeveless tops? Because if that's even a vague possibility, then..." Ichigo trails off as his eyes glaze over, obviously diving into a naughty daydream about lending Uryuu his clothes. There might even be a mall montage involved. "Mmm."

Uryuu slowly shakes his head at his boyfriend's goofiness. He leaves the question unanswered and lets Ichigo ride out the fantasy until they're back at their apartment. The persistent throb of his punctured ear is easily forgotten in favor of reacting to the way Ichigo practically attacks him as soon as they shut the door behind them.

"A little piece of silver turns you on this much?" he has to ask after several minutes of heavy making out. "I think we just discovered a new kink."

"I think you're right," Ichigo growls and tackles Uryuu to the couch, impatiently tugging at his clothes. "It upgraded you from 'hot nerd' to 'smart, sexy rebel'."

"Is that so?" Chuckling at the terminology, Uryuu's laughter turns into a throaty groan as Ichigo gets his pants undone and makes use of the opportunity. "In that case, what would a tattoo get me?"

Pausing in his current task of getting Uryuu nice and hard for him, Ichigo lifts his head to show him a stunned expression. He is briefly at a loss for words as he ponders that prospect. Uryuu is swept up into another long kiss that doesn't end until they're right on the edge.

"Whatever you want, Uryuu," he finally breaks away to pant against his neck. "If you ever got a tattoo...I'd gladly give whatever you want. _Fuck_, that's too damn hot to think about!"

"Whatever I want?"

The shift of hips hits a crescendo as they teeter at the brink, caught in that moment between crushing urgency and ecstatic relief.

"_Anything_."

Ichigo bites down the instant he starts to fall, sending Uryuu tumbling right after him. They shout and moan and cling to each other like they have so many times before. Like they will so many times more. Uryuu reaches an unsteady hand up to brush the damp hair from Ichigo's forehead and presses a light kiss to it. Ichigo leans down to nuzzle into his hair, nipping at the unpierced ear

"I've been considering it…"

"Seriously? What would you get?"

"Maybe…a strawberry."

They stare at each other for a beat. Then both of them burst into giddy giggles at the same time.

* * *

AN: This story is officially finished. Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews and I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Oh, and I'm pretty sure every Bleach fan knows this, but just in case: "Ichigo" means strawberry in Japanese, although the kanji is different for his actual name, so Uryuu is teasing based on that pun. Once I pictured Uryuu with a little red strawberry tattooed on his hip, I couldn't resist slipping it in there!


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